


Order 243

by Unforth



Series: Writing Prompt Wednesday [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angel Dean Winchester, Aphrodisiacs, Bottom Dean, Character Death, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Implied Mpreg, Intersex Dean, M/M, Marathon Sex, Not Really Character Death, Top Castiel, Twink Castiel, Twink Dean, Unrealistic Recovery Time, Voyeurism, Wing Kink, Wing Oil, reverse verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a guardian angel. Every generation, he's assigned a mortal to protect; he does so from the day they are born until the day they die. His latest charge is a baby named Castiel Novak. From the first, Dean knows there is something different about Castiel, but he tries not to think about it too much. After all, he has a duty to perform: protect Castiel when he needs to be protected and otherwise to do nothing to interfere with the course of Castiel's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's time for [Writing Prompt Wednesday](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/133923213098/writing-prompt-wednesday-wing-kink-aus)!! This story is from the theme for two weeks ago - I'm just a wee bit behind - mostly because, well, this story is 20k long! Anyway, the theme was "Wing Kink AUs."
> 
>  
> 
> **What is Writing Prompt Wednesday?**
> 
>  
> 
> Writing Prompt Wednesday is a feature I run on my Tumblr. Followers, readers and friends suggest themes for AUs, and I come up with a list of prompts based on the suggested them. Then, based on those prompts, anyone who wants to join in writes up a short story (or a long story, I guess) and posts it to Tumblr (or AO3, or FF.net, or wherever) and tags it Writing Prompt Wednesday!
> 
> You can read more about Writing Prompt Wednesday, and read this week's entries, at [this link](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/133923213098/writing-prompt-wednesday-wing-kink-aus). 
> 
> This week, I chose this prompt:  
>  _Everyone has a guardian angel to call their very own, and I can’t stop thinking about mine…but getting him/her to talk to me, that’s the challenge AU_
> 
> Sorry this story is so late...but hey, it's really long!
> 
> Also...yes, there's some weirdness in this story (ie, Dean has been watching over Castiel since literally the day Cas is born)...I tried to lampshade most of it, so hopefully y'all won't mind it when all is said and done.
> 
> Lastly: because I’m behind on this and last week’s story, I’ve decided to take a one week hiatus from WPW. But there will be new prompts next week, promise!

“It’s a boy, Mrs. Novak!”

The exhausted woman looked up, pale face streaked with tears and sweat, hair matted down, as the nurses carried in the swaddled, wrinkled, red-skinned infant, head dusty with black hair. The child’s tiny face scrunched up as he cried and Dean smiled as he got his first glimpse at his new charge. He’d been watching Naomi Novak since the day the infant she bore gained enough awareness of the world to count as a new life, impatient though he knew he shouldn’t be. Human lives passed too quickly. In fifty or seventy or a hundred scant year, that infant would die as an old, doddering man and Dean would return to heaven to wait for a new mortal to steward through the world. Dean hated watching them grow old, hated knowing that he’d watch this newborn die, but that was the way of things. To everything there was a season, turn turn turn. In the meantime, there was a lifetime to come, decades of that promised adventures, failures and successes.

Generation after generation, century after century, millennia upon millennia, Dean had watched his charges from their first breats until their last. This was the cycle of human life, the cycle of Dean’s life, and the beginning was one of Dean’s favorite parts. Mrs. Novak held the crying baby to her chest and wept with joy and exhaustion and relief. Dean smiled, excited, curious to see what was to come.

* * *

_Come back, Naomi. Castiel is too young to be left by himself_ .

Strict rules dictated when Dean was allowed to intervene to protect his human and when he wasn’t. Not every mortal had a guardian angel; most didn’t, heaven’s host was large but humanity outnumbered them vastly. Dean had no idea on what criteria humans were selected for guardianship. Some of the mortals that Dean had stewarded had started as great people, done great things, died great; some had been born to nothing and had become great; others had been born and died in obscurity and even when Dean sought to indulge his curiosity, asking questions, following the paths of the lives they’d touched to see if those they knew had done great things, investigating their descendants, he could find no reason why they had been chosen. It mattered little; the assignments came from the Lord himself and Dean loved all his charges equally, worked equally hard to protect them regardless of what they accomplished.

Little Castiel tottered on his stubby, small feet. He’d learned to walk within the past week and he couldn’t be kept down. Wide, bright blue eyes looked at everything around him in wonder, enjoying the new perspective that standing gave him. The sharp edges of the coffee table loomed dangerously close to Castiel’s head.

_Naomi, why would you leave him alone?_

Dean could hear Naomi moving around the kitchen and considered getting her as he watched invisibly and intangibly from the corner of the room. Before he could decide whether he should find a way to lure her back, Castiel over-balanced backwards, skull about to crack on the corner of the table. Reaching out with his grace, Dean easily caught the boy beneath the arms and nudged him upright. Castiel giggled, an adorable sound, and shuffled, running excitedly as best he could, moving towards the nook from which Dean observed. Castiel pitched forward, too new to walking to think to put his hands before him to catch his balance. Dean caught him again, earning more laughter. Judging from the sounds from the kitchen, Naomi either didn’t hear or wasn’t worried by the noise. Castiel showed no inclination to stop and for the next half hour the boy toddled back and forth across the room, lighting up with delight every time Dean caught him.

When Castiel tired of the game, he tugged a pillow from the couch, tossed it on the floor, curled up atop it and lay down, blue eyes blinking in and out of focus as he peered around the room.

_Can he see me?_

Castiel’s eyes slipped shut; he yawned and fell asleep.

_No way. That’s impossible._

* * *

The premonition of danger gave Dean a moment’s warning: something to Castiel’s left, something large, something only Dean could prevent. Reacting instantly, Dean materialized, wings flaring behind him as he swept down and enfolded the child protectively with his body. The wind gusted, there was a resounding cracking nose, something heavy crashed down around Dean and a jolt of electricity flared through his body, bristled his wings, coursed painfully through his skin, filled the air with the smell of seared flesh and burning feathers. Someone screamed. Huddling within the cocoon of Dean’s wings, Castiel stared at Dean wide-eyed. Dean tried not to twitch as current scoured him, instead forcing a smile.

“Are you alright, Castiel?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the unpleasant sensation of being electrocuted. Leaves tickled at Dean’s face, a weight of solid wood pressed into his back. Even as distracted as he was it wasn’t difficult to reconstruct what had happened – a tree branch had fallen and snapped an electrical line. If Dean hadn’t been there, Castiel would have either been crushed or shocked.

“Are you my guardian angel?” Castiel sounded shockingly calm at the prospect, equally unalarmed by their predicament.

“Yeah.” The weight resting on Dean’s shoulder shifted and he repressed a groan. He’d be fine, injuries could only hurt his corporealized body and would heal quickly, but if he did anything to suggest that he was in pain, Castiel might worry.

“Why didn’t Callie’s angel protect her last year?” demanded Castiel angrily.

“That was very sad,” Dean said. He’d heard the story while watching Castiel at school; the girl had gotten into the household chemicals, drank something poisonous and had been in a coma ever since. It was precisely the kind of incident that Dean would have prevented, if Castiel were to find himself in such a situation. But even had Dean known of Callie’s accident, he couldn’t have done anything. Castiel was Dean’s responsibility; he was permitted to interfere with no one else’s life. “Callie didn’t have a guardian angel.”

“I thought everyone had a guardian angel,” said Castiel. The electricity cut out abruptly and Dean shivered and hissed out a puff of air, his feathers fluffing out dryly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Dean said. It was much easier to smile now that 50,000 volts weren’t running through him. His grace tingled, supercharged. “Only a few people have guardian angels. I wish there were enough of us to guard every human, but we’re too few. It’s terrible knowing bad things happen to innocent people and heaven’s host cannot prevent them, but that’s the order of things.”

“Why do I have a guardian angel?”

“I don’t know,” said Dean. The leaves around Dean’s face shifted, the weight came off his shoulders, and with a flap of his wings Dean vanished, flashed instantly around the world to burn off the excess power he’d absorbed, returned milliseconds from when he’d left to see Castiel looking at the sky as every child who’d been at the playground with him gawked and every adult fussed to find Castiel unharmed. The excited chatter of the crowd made it clear that some of the onlookers had seen Dean and more myths about guardian angels were spawned – that miracles were real, that everyone had a guardian, that Castiel was blessed. Every rescue created talk which was part of why Dean wasn’t allowed to intervene more often. He didn’t mind. If Castiel needed him, Dean would be there. That was the entire purpose of Dean’s existence.

* * *

“Do you think I should get pizza after school today?” Castiel said to the open air. Dean fluttered behind him, watching curiously, wishing he could warn Castiel that he wasn’t as alone as he clearly thought. Castiel talked to nothing sometimes; Dean had figured the boy had an imaginary friend, though he was a bit old for that now. It was a strange habit, one that made Castiel’s mother roll her eyes in exasperation and Castiel’s friends mutter that he was weird. This time, Castiel was walking home by himself. He hadn’t seen Alastair swaggering up behind him. Dean tensed, ready to defend Castiel if necessary.

_Even if my danger sense doesn’t trigger?_

“Who are you talking to?” sniggered Alastair, deliberately shoulder-checking Castiel as he walked by. Castiel froze, expression betraying no fear though Dean knew how Castiel felt about the bully, knew all too well how often they had butted heads, knew that Castiel went home and in the privacy of his room he cried and tended his wounds. Despite that, Dean hadn’t once been authorized to intervene and protect Castiel. His inability to act against his orders twisted in Dean’s guts, left him sick and angry and helpless.

“My guardian angel,” Castiel used boldness to mask his fear. He was such a brave, intelligent boy. Dean couldn’t bear to watch him get hurt again.

“You have an imaginary friend?” Alastair laughed mockingly. “You’re such a baby.”

“He’s not imaginary,” said Castiel, expression defiant. “I have a guardian angel. I saw him. Other people saw him. He told me he was an angel. You must be too stupid to be able to see him.”

Alastair’s face went purple. “Stupid? I’ll show you who’s stupid! When you least expect it...”

Castiel tensed in anticipation but Alastair didn’t attack. Instead, the bully strutted away and turned down a side street. There wouldn’t be consequences now, not on a suburban street surrounded by neat houses and occasionally trafficked by nice cars. The consequences would come sometime later, probably at school, where the teachers smiled and excused Alastair and said “boys will be boys” as the violence escalated. Dean stewed the entire trip home, wondering what he should do. He was certain that Castiel was in danger but he had received no directive to act. The thought of what Alastair and his friends might do to Dean’s beautiful, blue-eyed charge was too horrible to contemplate.

For the first time in his existence, Dean contemplated disobedience.

It was late that night, Castiel asleep, when Dean made up his mind. Castiel looked so peaceful as he rested, expression relaxed, breathing even. It was the first time Dean had seen him genuinely calm since Castiel got home from school that afternoon. He’d acted like nothing was wrong, eating dinner with his family, answering questions about his day, but Dean recognized the tension in his shoulders, the worry clouding his usually bright eyes, the fear as he stared blankly at a textbook and hesitated to begin the homework that Castiel usually did with such alacrity. Watching Castiel in distress hurt, the moreso because Dean knew he _could_ help, if only he were permitted. The longer he watched the boy sleep, the more Dean’s sense of duty broke down in the face of his worries for what the next day would bring. When he could take it no more, Dean resolved to interfere, to act preemptively, and made the terrifying choice to leave Castiel alone. It was the first time he’d done so, the first time he’d ever left a charge without express orders. Dean rationalized the choice but telling himself he’d be back in minutes. Castiel was asleep. Nothing bad would happen. Reaching out with his grace, Dean easily found who he sought.

Alastair’s family lived in a large house in a fancy neighborhood. The boy had a room to himself, decorated macabrely with posters of people bound and bleeding. His parents must be insane not to realize that the child was a budding sociopath. Dean wished it was in his power to stop Alastair before he hurt anyone, but Dean couldn’t. Alastair’s fate was his own; Dean could only act on Castiel’s behalf. Stopping Alastair permanently would fall to others.

Gathering his grace about himself, Dean dropped the cloaking magic that kept him invisible and manifest himself in all his angelic glory in the small confines of Alastair’s bedroom. His wings spread, green and glowing gold, his aura flared with light and an indefinable sense of awe-inspiring holiness, his eyes flared pure green and inhuman. Alastair went white with fear and stumbled onto his bed, away from Dean, crying out as he did. Dean made sure no one else in the house could hear, that no one would interfere.

“The Lord’s eyes are always on you, Alastair Rolston,” Dean said, his voice amplified to be deep, echoing, terrifying. “He knows what you’ve done. He knows that you have sinned. He knows you plan to do worse. If you harm another living being, you will face the consequences of your actions. Your worst nightmares will seem like your fondest dreams. Do you understand?”

Alastair opened and closed his mouth, blinked, his breaths coming in desperate pants. “What...who...no, this is impossible, who is playing a prank on me? Is it you, Azazel? Ruby? I know it’s gotta be one of you...”

“I am an angel of the Lord,” Dean declaimed. “And you will obey the Lord’s command or live long enough to reap ten times over every bit of pain you ever caused another. _Do you understand?_ ”

Alastair never bothered Castiel again, nor any other child at the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is sort of short, this is pretty much the story set up, and I'm too tired to do more tonight. More to come tomorrow, though! The first draft of this story is complete; it's about 20k. I'm hoping to get it all posted in the next 36 hours or so. I'm guessing I'll end up breaking it into around 4 chapters.


	2. Chapter 2

“I have no idea how to narrow this list further,” Castiel sighed. He sat on his bed, long legs folded before him, an array of college pamphlets spread on the blankets. As soon as spring semester of Castiel’s junior year had started, he’d been learning about colleges. Naomi had taken him to visit campuses, Castiel had talked with classmates about what they were planning to do, he’d spent endless hours on the internet researching majors and schools and prices and financial aid and scholarships and a whole slew of factors that contributed to the decision. Dean was in awe. The last time he’d been witness to a college selection process was when his previous charge’s children had searched in the 1960s. Things had been different then and the choice hadn’t seemed particularly difficult except for the one who had absolutely no idea what they wanted to study. Castiel knew he was interested in religious studies – he was considering religious history, philosophy, or comparative religion – but that scarce narrowed his options down.

“NYU has a great program but it’s so expensive,” said Castiel, picking up a glossy sheet of paper and setting it to one side. “There are all the religious schools that offer programs, but none of them seem like they are truly interested in a student thinking critically about the issues involved.” He gathered up several documents and made a single stack of them. “Brown is like NYU. Northwestern, too, but at least it’s close to home. There’s Yale…Florida State…” Castiel sorted through the pamphlets, making piles as he went. “I can only apply to five and I have no idea where to pick. We can’t afford one of the private schools, but they offer the best education, and I don’t _want_ to stay closer to home even though it’ll cost less.” Groaning, Castiel fell back against the bed, causing the mattress to bob and his neatly-ordered stacks to mix together. “What do you think I should do?”

Dean started. For a moment, he could swear Castiel had looked directly at him, that their eyes met, that Dean had seen the earnest supplication and entreaty on the boy’s usually stoic face. The feeling passed, Castiel’s gaze moved on, and Dean shivered. Castiel was beautiful, smart, hard-working, dedicated to his family and friends, loyal and kind. He had secrets for which some might condemn him – Dean had heard Castiel lament how his parents would react if and when they found out that Castiel was gay – but generally, he was a happy youth, content at school, his grades good, his early explorations with fellow students endearing, his prospects for the future bright. Watching him grow up had proven as satisfying as Dean could hope. Of all the mortals Dean had ever stewarded through life, he thought Castiel his favorite.

It caused an ache in his chest that he couldn’t answer Castiel’s question. Dean tried to tell himself that Castiel wasn’t _actually_ talking to him, but he didn’t believe it.

“Are you still there?” asked Castiel sadly. “I thought…but you never…maybe it really is all in my head.” When he was younger, Castiel had treated Dean as an imaginary friend, had asked others if they could see his guardian angel. Other than those who’d been at the park the time Dean had manifested, no one ever took Castiel seriously. Eventually, Castiel had stopped asking. “But if you are…I could really use your help. I have no idea how to decide where to apply.”

There was no useful information Dean could offer in regards to college anyway. Even were he to violate the rules governing his service on earth, Dean would not be able to contribute anything of value to Castiel’s thinking. He held his peace and watched from his usual perch, weightless, invisible, ready to aid when needed.

“I guess…I guess I have to move on.” Castiel sat up abruptly and began looking through the pamphlets again, expression intense. He didn’t narrate what he was doing. Sadness clenched at Dean’s chest for no reason he could define, but he reminded himself it was for the best. No other mortal Dean had protected had tried to have conversations with him. Many had invoked him in prayer, made offerings to God in thanks for Dean’s help, and otherwise expressed their appreciation, but none had ever treated him as anything other than an untouchable guardian. Castiel acted like Dean was his friend. It was endearing, but impossible. Dean would never be able to answer Castiel.

* * *

“Mmm,” Castiel moaned appreciatively and Dean flushed from nipple to hair line. Determined to resist the urge to turn around and watch what the college freshman was doing, he instead fixed his gaze on the ceiling and wall that he faced. Pink spread slowly down Dean’s bare chest, the slight swell of his breasts and the firm muscles of his abdomen. The loose linen pants he wore did nothing to hide the modest tent caused by his arousal and Dean squeezed his eyes shut again and prayed that Castiel’s first serious sexual exploration would not be long in duration. Dean’s least favorite duty was having to remain in the room while his charges made love. The extent to which Dean found such scenes arousing mortified him. His existence thus far had been celibate. If the Lord wanted Dean to take a mate, he’d receive orders naming his partner, same as he was assigned the mortals whom he was to serve as guardian for. Of course, he masturbated from time to time, sometimes by stroking himself, sometimes with fingers buried within himself, but he’d never been touched by another in a way intended to give him gratification. If he were honest with himself, he longed for it, but coupling with a mortal violated every tenant of Dean’s purpose as a guardian angel and his responsibilities kept him too busy to pursue anything with another angel even if rules did not prevent his doing so. A companion would be nice but he was fine without one; he repressed his desires and did his duty. It wasn’t usually difficult for him.

“Oh God, Cassie, that feels…that feels _really_ good, I had no…”

Times like this, it was _extremely_ difficult for him.

It wasn’t like he could leave to defray his embarrassment or give Castiel privacy for his first time. The other boy, a classmate of Castiel’s named Alfie, seemed nice enough. Since they’d met at the beginning of the semester, the two had grown to be friends and more. Dean thought it sweet, though he suspected it wasn’t long term. Castiel was smarter than Alfie, more caring, better looking, and had more to give than Alfie did. Castiel could do much better, find someone more deserving of his affection. Regardless, what they had was real for them right now and Dean had to stay in case anything happened. Once, a woman he was guarding had a liaison try to kill her; another time, a man had a heart attack. Over enough lifetimes of being a guardian angel, Dean knew that even during consensual sex, a human could get into trouble and need help. Dean would never leave Castiel alone.

“Alfie,” Castiel drew the name out as a long groan. “Faster – faster, please—”

Though his eyes were firmly fixed on the wall, Dean couldn’t keep the sounds from reaching his ears, couldn’t keep his body from reacting. Castiel had grown up to be a beautiful young man, tall and lithe, eyes brightest blue, hair near black and permanently a scruffy mess. Every movement he made was graceful. Had he wings, Dean could have mistaken him for a young angel: he had the same perfection of body and spirit and mind. Every word from Castiel’s mouth confirmed that he was among the pinnacle of God’s greatest creation.

“Oh,” moaned Castiel, low voice gone ragged and breathy, “I’m going to…I think I’m going to come…”

Even _those_ words, so dirty, so filthy, sounded like the Lord’s music to Dean. Dean loved every charge he’d watched over. Some were easier to love than others, but Dean couldn’t but feel for them. In the still of the long nights when Castiel was asleep, Dean watched over him in serene calm and resisted the urge to adjust the blankets to be sure he was warm enough, to brush the hair from his forehead, to comfort him when he had a bad dream. At those times Dean had to acknowledge that what he felt for Castiel was more profound. There was a bond between them, forged from the first time the infant had looked to the apparently empty space that was in truth occupied by Dean and acted like maybe he saw something, from the first time Dean had used his grace to protect the child when he shouldn’t. Dean had never violated the rules for any mortal, yet he had subtly aided and protected Castiel numerous times when he shouldn’t have, when no heavenly imperative prompted him to. He couldn’t help it. Castiel was _different_.

“It’s okay, I am too…oh, Cassie… _oh_ …”

Dean bit his lip against a groan and pressed a palm to his aching cock, resisted the urge to slip a hand beneath the waist band of his pants to tease at his clit. After Alfie left, after Castiel went to sleep, Dean could see to himself. His mind _screamed_ for him to be filled, begged for the feeling of a cock thrusting within him. Masturbating was not the same as sharing intimacy with another. Dean had jealously watched how women and men reacted when someone they cared about made love to them, had longed to have that experience himself. It was obvious that the intensity of blissful release was amplified greatly when a partner was involved, amplified even more when the men and women involved were in love.

_How would it feel to have Castiel inside of me, thrusting into me as he is thrusting into Alfie? How would it feel to have Castiel touch my wings, groom them, massage along my spine, press a thumb into my glands? How would it feel if Castiel loved me?_

Twin groans marked the lovers climax, followed by Dean’s quieter echo. Pleasure seared him to the bone. Waiting was torture but he couldn’t bring himself to masturbate while they were in the room awake. They couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t matter. _He’d_ know. Repressing his desires as best he could, Dean forced himself to turn around and watch the aftermath. The two teens were cleaning themselves up and making awkward small talk. Alfie blushed red and avoided eye contact with Castiel, but Dean thought Castiel was acting distant. His voice had returned to its usual calm air, his movements were unconcerned and unashamed. Alfie timidly asked if he could stay the night, Castiel agreed, and surprisingly little time saw them curled together beneath Castiel’s thick comforter, bodies pressed close to fit on the narrow twin bed in Castiel’s dorm. Alfie fell silent quickly, head lolling to the side as Castiel combed gently through his hair. It was a long time before Castiel’s eyes slipped shut and longer still before his breathing grew even with sleep.

Holding back a relieved moan, Dean undid the tie on his pants and let them slip down. Letting grace and his wings hold him in position in the corner of the room, he hitched his legs up, spread them, wrapped one hand around his half-hard cock, used the other hand to tease a finger over his wet slit. Pleasure burst like fireworks through his abdomen, his thighs, spread heat that hardened him fully. Stroking himself gently, keeping a thumb on his sensitive nub of his clit, he awkwardly thrust two fingers inside himself. He was so wet they slid in easily to the knuckle, and though his coordination wasn’t good enough for him to stimulate all three places simultaneously, it felt so good to be filled he hardly cared that he scarce moved the fingers. Teasing at the head of his cock, he coaxed liquid to bead from his short length, circled his clit with his thumb, felt his body winding tighter and tighter as he quickly approached his climax.

_Blue eyes staring into mine intently, gentle hands carding through my feathers, lips moving against my mouth, a deep voice begging me to go faster, telling me how good it feels, warning me he’s close…_

Dean’s back arched against as he strained at the air supporting him, a cry bursting from him. Bliss, hot and liquid, enveloped every sense; white burst free to land on his belly. Laying limp on a cushion of magical grace, Dean panted, sightless though his eyes were open, waiting to come down off the incredible high. Had it _ever_ felt that good when he’d touched himself? He couldn’t think of a time when it had. He couldn’t think of a time when he’d imagined someone with him, either. Maybe he’d try that again.

_But thinking about Castiel like that is wrong. He’s my charge, not my lover. He’ll never be my lover._

Sighing forlornly, Dean righted himself, used his grace to clean the come from his belly, tied his pants, and turned to look down at the slumbering couple. A smile quirked the corners of Castiel’s mouth, pink tinged his cheeks, his eyes were lidded, open barely enough to show a hint of navy and black. His hand yet worked through Alfie’s short, sandy hair.

“You liked that, didn’t you,” Castiel whispered. “I thought you might.”

_I’m sure Alfie loved it, Castiel. You’ve nothing to worry about. You’re safe and cared for. I wish—_

Dean didn’t let himself finish the thought. It was inappropriate and unbecoming of his calling as a guardian to think of his charge in such a fashion. Pushing it aside, he pulled his pants back on, settled in for the night to watch Castiel sleep and tried not to envy the slim young man wrapped in Castiel’s embrace.

* * *

There were many ways in which Dean was similar to mortals. He could feel, cry, make love, have a child, bleed. However, there were many quintessentially humans things that Dean could not do. Dean did not sleep. Though sometimes he chose to rest his eyes for a time, he was alert and ready at all times. Dean did not eat. His mouth was primarily for speech; he no digestive organs, no anus, not even the ability to eat should he wish to. Dean did not drink. Grace kept his mouth moistened as needed, his blood flowing, his eyes damp; his penis was purely an organ for sexual reproduction. Dean did not breathe. While he had lungs with which to draw air, he only used that air to vocalize. Watching Castiel indulge in a meal with Alfie, Dean could see the obvious pleasure the consumption of food gave, the relief of drinking a large glass of water, and he envied the gifts his Father had given the humans that the angels had been denied.

The mall was large, airy, the food court decorated with palm trees. Sunlight streaming in through a glass ceiling. Dean hovered amongst the fronds surrounded by the cacophony of hundreds of holiday shoppers, his ears attuned perfectly to the only two voices that were significant to him.

 _Damn_ , but the sound of Alfie’s voice _grated_. The two had been together for over a year, a year of dates and snuggling and kisses and lovemaking and long conversations about the future and discussions of moving in together, a year of frustration and impatience and noticing all the little things Alfie did that made Castiel unhappy, all the times that Alfie took for granted all the kindnesses that Castiel bestowed on him.

It wasn’t actually a bad relationship. Dean knew he was being unreasonable. Worse than that, Dean knew he was jealous, as if he had the least right to be jealous of Castiel’s affections. Castiel wasn’t _his_. If anything, he was Castiel’s, his guardian, his watcher. For as long as Castiel lived, Dean could have no desires save those that aligned with Castiel’s needs.

While that was technically true, Dean knew in his heart it obfuscated the actual truth. After a year of watching Castiel pursue happiness with someone, Dean knew his feelings were not the protective, almost parental affection what they ought to be. As he gritted his teeth listening to the two young men talk, knowing he was unfairly judging Alfie but unable to stop himself from doing so, Dean considered for the hundredth time contacting heaven and asking for a reassignment. His situation wasn’t unique. Angels were allowed to have feelings, and as with humans, angel’s feelings were, frustratingly enough, beyond their conscious control. Dean couldn’t help that he cared deeply for Castiel, couldn’t help that he was jealous. Dean had never had to request a transfer before, though, and the shame of it was enough to make him wilt. Further, he couldn’t conceive of allowing anyone else to watch over his Castiel.

_My Castiel…_

God, Dean was in trouble.

Glass shattered overhead at the same instant that Dean’s senses flooded with the sense of imminent danger. Fragments sliced into his suddenly-corporeal body, cutting into his wings, a crystal rain that cascaded in cracking sheets to the food court below. People screamed as the skylight broke apart and Dean acted without thinking, ignoring the pain as he strained his torn wings and soared down. People were scattering in all directions, backs bowed, arms held up in an ineffectual attempt to protect themselves. Behind and above him he could hear the protesting shriek of metal rending, but he only had eyes for Castiel and Alfie where they hid beneath the too-small table at which they’d been eating their meal. Sweeping the ground, knocking tables and chairs aside, Dean grabbed Castiel, cursing the directives that meant he couldn’t help Alfie as well. No matter how jealous Dean was, Castiel was important to Dean and Alfie was important to Castiel, and that meant that Alfie was important to Dean. The rules were strict, though – Dean couldn’t intervene to protect _anyone_ except his charge.

Lifting Castiel easily, Dean banked upwards, gaining altitude. The roof crumbled outward, the metal framework distending and glass panes breaking, and Dean aimed for the center, for the clear cold air of the winter afternoon and what he hoped was safety. Even if the danger was something from above, if Dean was outside he could fly them both away, as far as needed to be sure that nothing happened to Castiel. Something solid struck his shoulders and wings, blanking his vision with pain; by the time he regained his senses he was plummeting, his back towards the ground. Even semi-conscious, he had moved to shield Castiel with his own body. Rolling to his front, he got air under his wings and with a mighty flap, Dean took to the air and didn’t stop rising until they were well above the pandemonium. There, Dean circled, watching the skies, watching the mall, watching everywhere. Castiel was warm in his arms, trembling and clinging; at some point he’d gotten his arms around Dean’s neck and their legs tangled together.

“Oh, God,” Castiel whimpered.

“I’m sorry,” Dean breathed, feeling terrible for the harm he was doing in his attempt to protect. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry I couldn’t help Alfie. I—”

“Who cares about Alfie? Are you alright? You’re bleeding!” Each statement came quickly, more frantic than the one before.

“Please, don’t worry about me,” said Dean as he continued to survey the scene with a wary eye. “My only concern is protecting you.”

“I know,” said Castiel. Dean frowned, trying to read Castiel’s tone of voice. He thought there was an edge of hysteria to it, maybe? Concerned, he tightened his embrace, held Castiel closer and earned a pained, shuddering gasp in reply. “You don’t worry about yourself at _all_ , do you? You’re hurt badly – you’re shaking!” Dean’s eyes widened. Castiel’s voice was angry and worried. Realizing that Dean’s charge was concerned about him warmed Dean’s heart far more than it should.

“Everything is fine, Castiel,” he replied, hoping he succeeded at keeping the warmth from his voice. “My sense that you’re in danger has faded. I think the situation in the mall is back to normal. I’m going to return you there now, alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Castiel said, disgruntled.

Dean soared down. There was a crowd gathered outside the mall, the sound of sirens rapidly approaching, and as Dean circled over the onlookers he suddenly became more interesting to them than the damaged building and the press of people trying to escape to the safety of the parking lot. Fingers pointed up, people shielded their eyes to see him despite the glaring sunlight, and Dean wished he didn’t have to drop Castiel amidst such a hubbub. Many people would take Dean’s presence as a sign that Castiel was involved, would think he was an intended target. The crowd would mob him, the police would question him, he might even be forced to the hospital to be sure he was alright. In comparison to the aggravation that Castiel was about to face, the pain wracking Dean’s body was negligible. Dean hated to leave him, but already Dean was feeling the pressure to absent himself again. Castiel was out of danger and Dean had to go incognito again until the next time he was needed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in Castiel’s ear as Dean set Castiel’s feet on the ground some distance from the curious audience. “I’m watching over you. You’re safe. When you need me, I’ll be there.”

Stepping back, Dean gave him a quick once over, taking in Castiel’s windswept appearance, the tension tightening his brow, the grimace marring his face, the smudges of Dean’s blood staining Castiel’s shirt and jeans. Agony lanced through Dean as he spread his wings wide, a blood-matted feather floated to the ground, and he was glad he disappeared before Castiel had a chance to notice Dean’s tight-mouthed, pained expression.

“Castiel!” Alfie’s bright voice caused Dean to wince as surely as Dean’s injuries did.

Taking to the sky, he invisibly watched from overhead, waiting, keeping an eye on Castiel. Every beat of his wings hurt, but he’d have time to heal that night while Castiel rested. A frantic Alfie greeted Castiel with a huge hug and demanded to know what had happened. Castiel calmly explained about his guardian angel while Dean watched over him, explained to the mall goers, explained to the police, explained to the EMTs and the media and a suited FBI agent. Long after most of the victims had gone home, Castiel was still explaining that he knew nothing of what had happened.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Castiel returned to his dormitory, having insisted that Alfie return to his own for a change. Dean shifted his wings uncomfortably in the confined room, every movement causing scabbed over wounds to crack open and leak fresh blood. Stepping into the room, Castiel looked around helplessly then crumpled into his computer chair with a sigh, elbows on his knees, hands pressed to his forehead. Worried, Dean perched on the hutch of Castiel’s absent roommate’s desk and watched, wondering what was troubling Castiel so.

“I know you were hurt earlier,” Castiel finally said. Dean flinched and winced. Piercing blue eyes looked up, looked around, scanned over the empty bed, the desk, Dean, without appearing to see him. “Don’t be stubborn – I’d like to help.”

The intonation was subtle but Dean knew Castiel well enough to recognize his sincerity. Dean’s heart wrenched, his expression deeply troubled, and he wished he could reveal himself long enough to show Castiel that he had nothing to worry about.

“Please,” Castiel importuned, hands out-stretched imploringly. “You were injured protecting me. I can’t stand that you’re suffering on my behalf.”

Dean bit his lip to hold silent. _He cares about me, he wants to help me...this is so wrong, it’s so backwards, I can’t..._

“I’m not going to rest until you let me take care of you,” added Castiel, scowling. “I’ll ask all night if I have to.”

“It’s okay,” Dean whispered, using grace to ensure Castiel could hear him. “I’ll heal quickly. You don’t need to worry about me, Castiel.”

“Of course I don’t _need_ to,” Castiel rolled his eyes. Rising, Castiel walked to his roommate’s bed and sat on it. “We don’t _need_ to do things for the people we care about. You don’t help me because you need to, do you?”

“It’s my job,” lied Dean. _No, not exactly a lie, just an oversimplification. It’s not my job, it’s my existence...Castiel is different..._

“It surprises me that you think I know you that little,” said Castiel earnestly to the empty bed beside him, acting as if Dean sat beside him. “You have helped me so many times. You’ve only appeared twice but I’ve sensed you so many others times. You played with me when I was a child, you confronted Alastair...I _know_ you weren’t doing those things because you had to.” Despite the confidence of Castiel’s words, there was a hitch to his voice. “You left me a bloody feather.” Castiel reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out the ratty frond. “I can’t stand knowing this happened to you because a structural problem brought down the roof of the mall, that it happened because Alfie and I were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I have a first aid kit. _Please_ , angel, may I help you?”

They sat in silence a long time, Dean deeply troubled, Castiel’s expression growing increasingly defeated. The hardest part was watching Castiel’s hope and faith in Dean crumble. Dean swore he could see Castiel wondering for the first time if this truly was nothing but a job to Dean, could watch the wheels turning as Castiel wondered if Dean had only helped because he had to. Castiel’s sorrow was unbearable. With an unhappy sigh, Dean used his grace to dissipate the intangibility cloaking him. Castiel gasped to see Dean revealed, looked horrified as he saw the damage to Dean’s wings. The usual brilliant forest green of Dean’s feathers, speckled with yellow like fireflies flitting through a summer night, was mottled with shades of red, the crimson of fresh flow and the near-black dried crust leaving Dean’s wings limp and ugly. Embarrassed, Dean nearly vanished again, but Castiel reacted quickly, knelt on the bed to reach up to where Dean sat on the back of the desk, lay a hand on Dean’s wings. Despite himself, Dean whimpered in pain.

“Towels,” muttered Castiel distractedly, pulling his hand away bloody. “I’m going to need wet towels. Can I use normal – human – medicines on you? Why don’t you just use magic to heal?”

“I will – I am using magic to heal,” said Dean. “Once I have time to rest, it’ll only take a day or two. And besides, I’m fine. This is not enough to prevent me doing my duty.”

The words were meant to soothe Castiel but instead his expression clouded and he scowled angrily. Confused, Dean quirked his head to one side, trying to understand. Castiel met his gaze steadily, blue eyes dark in the low light, and shook his head. “Sit here and wait for me. I’m going to get something to clean the blood off.”

Every instinct and imperative that had governed Dean’s life for millennia screamed for him to decline, to disappear, to return to heaven instantly and ask them to send someone else, anyone else, to look over Castiel. Looking into that earnest gaze, though, Dean couldn’t do it. He struggled against himself for a long minute and then sighed, shoulders and wings slumping in defeat. Castiel smiled at Dean’s half nod if agreement.

Minutes later, Dean lay face down on Castiel’s bed, his wings spread as best they could be in the confines of the room, Castiel gently tending to his injuries. The towel Castiel used was warm and comforting and every touch that didn’t cause pain brought pleasure. Occasionally, a fellow angel had helped him groom and it had been a pleasant experience but that had in no way prepared Dean for how this felt. Castiel’s hands on him was glorious, left him shivering, thrilled gasps alternating with hisses as Castiel scrubbed away blood, arranged ruffled feathers, smeared some kind of ointment over every wound, rubbed something soothing into the place back where something had struck Dean’s back. As wonderful as it was, it was also torture, as so many interactions with Castiel were torture. Dean hoped that Castiel mistook the small signs of arousal Dean betrayed for reactions to the pain. He wished he could see Castiel and assess his reaction, but all he could see were sheets, pillows and the windowed wall of the dorm room. His senses revealed nothing but the tentativeness of Castiel’s touch, the delicate way that he treated each injury, the gentle warmth that Castiel left in his wake as he worked down the length of one wing until he reached Dean’s back and began on the other.

“What’s this?” Castiel asked curiously, running a finger over the gland at the joint where Dean’s wing met his back. Intense sensation burst through Dean’s body, hardened his cock despite his lingering pain, seared through his thoughts. He gasped loudly, back arching from the bed. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Dean managed, voice cracking. It took all his willpower to ease himself back down, to relax, to not beg Castiel to touch him again just the same, over and over, smear the oil within over Dean’s feathers until he lost his mind with the bliss of it. “They’re glands that secrete lubrication to keep my feathers healthy.”

“Are they injured?” said Castiel, running his finger along the gland again. Dean shuddered, his back spasming painfully, destroying the unspeakably good feeling of Castiel’s hands on him.

“No,” Dean croaked. “No, I don’t think so, I’m fine, really – I should go, I should...”

“You can disappear any time you want to,” Castiel said dryly. “But until you do, I’m going to treat your other wing as I treated your first.”

_Anything, anything you want, if you’ll keep touching me like that…no, you have to stop, you have to…_

Mercifully, Castiel moved on, his hands working miracles over every aching joint and broken feather and bloody tear. It took a long time; Castiel left periodically to rinse or replace the towels and refresh the heat of the water in which they were soaked. In those idle minutes when Dean was alone, he wondered why no one else in the dorms said anything about the sophomore walking back and forth to the bathroom with blood soaked linens, but if there were any incidents, Castiel said nothing about them. Finally, when Castiel was done, he lay his hands, palm down, on the muscles on the top of Dean’s back, held them there warm and strong until the quiver of pain faded from Dean’s body.

Despite with the pain, those hours were some of the nicest Dean could ever recall experiencing.

“I should go,” Dean whispered again, though it was the last thing in the universe he wanted.

“Will you really be leaving?” asked Castiel. Dean couldn’t answer. He couldn’t lie to Castiel again, not then, not ever. “I didn’t think so.” The hands on his shoulders massaged him gently and Dean sighed into the bed. “It means a lot to me that you watch over me. Thank you.”

“I have to go,” Dean repeated, reluctantly gathering grace unto himself. “Goodbye Cas—”

“Wait!” Castiel interrupted, holding Dean against the bed as if that would make any difference in Dean’s ability to become incorporeal.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“What’s your name?” said Castiel, his voice desperate as if he were afraid he’d never see Dean again.

_I hope he doesn’t ever see me again. I hope nothing terrible enough to require my aid ever happens to Castiel again. He doesn’t deserve to have such fearful things occur._

“I shouldn’t…” Dean trailed off, grunting, as Castiel dug his nails into Dean’s shoulders. “Dean. My name is Dean.”

He disappeared, leaving Castiel hunched on a bed spattered with blood, surrounded by destroyed towels. Watching him clean up afterwards left Dean ashamed but proud. Castiel, though exhausted, kept his head up the entire time, leaving his room spotless before he was done.

_He’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met._


	3. Chapter 3

“I want to break up,” Castiel said without preamble as soon as he stepped into Alfie’s dorm room. Alfie’s jaw dropped.

“What? Why?” stammered Alfie. It was four days after the incident at the mall – tentatively declared an accident by investigators, who had located several issues with the structural stability of the original construction. It was the first time Alfie and Castiel had met since then. As far as Dean could tell, Castiel had been avoiding Alfie, but Dean had no idea why.

“It’s not working,” said Castiel calmly. “I think you are very nice and we’ve had a lot of fun together, but my feelings haven’t grown as I thought they would.”

There was a long pause as Alfie’s eyes flooded with tears. Castiel’s stern expression broke for the first time, he looked guilty, ashamed, but resolute. He reached out a hand to offer comfort but Alfie stepped back and turned away. “There’s someone else, isn’t there,” Alfie accused. Castiel made no answer. Alfie  nodded as if silence were confirmation and used the back of one hand to wipe away his tears. “I always thought there was. Kind, sweet, _distant_ Castiel. Crap. Why did I stay when I knew it was a bad idea?”

“I’m sorry, Alfie.”

“I’m sure you are,” said Alfie with a sigh, wiping his eyes again. Dean wanted to feel bad for the boy, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Alfie had never been good enough for Castiel. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Castiel opened his mouth, but Alfie held up a stilling hand. How he knew Castiel was about to speak was beyond Dean, since they weren’t facing each other. “No, don’t say anything else. I’ll see you around, Cassie.”

Castiel nodded to himself, took a deep breath, let it go again, turned and left the room with his back stiff. Dean trailed after him, wondering if Alfie was right about Castiel having feelings for another. He must be, or else Castiel would have corrected Alfie’s misconception. Castiel was not the sort to let Alfie believe something untrue, even if it would have been more comfort to Alfie to think he’d been replaced.

_Great, now I’m going to have to watch him start all over with someone else._

Any unfair happiness Dean had felt that Castiel’s relationship was over dissipated, replaced by anxiety for the future.

* * *

After 20 years of watching over Castiel, Dean thought he had some idea how his charge thought, but the past months had proved to Dean that he didn’t have a clue. Despite Castiel’s parting words with his ex-boyfriend, he hadn’t pursued any further relationships. Castiel returned home for winter break, convinced his parents to let him move off campus, and at first Dean thought that was part of a plan to secure himself more privacy so he wouldn’t have to worry about scheduling his relationship around the needs of a roommate. Living in a private apartment near school would give Castiel freedom. When all was said and done, though, the move was made and nothing changed. Castiel continued to be a diligent student, worked hard, and didn’t pursue intimacy with anyone. To protect his sanity, Dean retreated to another room whenever Castiel took care of himself, and other than that things were hopelessly mundane.

Spring semester came and went quickly. Castiel left his last final without any of the dejection exhibited by some of his classmates. Of course he’d done well; he was very intelligent, had done his work all semester and had studied hard for the test. The smile on his face grew broader the closer to home Castiel got. It was a gorgeous spring day, the sun was shining, and even that wasn’t brighter than Castiel’s expression. Looking at him, Dean felt warm through. Castiel smiled so rarely and now he was doing so with such enthusiasm, it was beautiful.

 _Now that the semester is done and he has all summer, I bet Castiel is thinking about speaking to the person he discussed with Alfie_.

The thought sobered Dean. Forlorn, Dean flitted in Castiel’s wake, the sun filtering through his wings, and considered asking for reassignment yet again. Anything would be better than pining endlessly for the impossible.

As soon as Castiel got home, he locked the door, headed to his bedroom, shucked his shoes and light jacket and settled onto his bed.

“Dean, I need you,” said Castiel calmly. Despite his steady voice, his eyes were bright, his smile shy. Dean quirked his head curiously, but there was not the least sign of danger, no premonition that Dean needed to act, so he lingered in the corner of the room, intangible, watching. Looking around, Castiel nodded, apparently satisfied with what he didn’t see.

Rising, Castiel deliberately removed his plain t-shirt, folding it and setting it on his dresser. Next, he unbuttoned his pants, unzipped and lowered them. Of late, this had been the point when Dean retreated to the hallway, close enough to help if something happened to Castiel, far enough to not be subjected to the contradictory feelings he experienced when he watched Castiel pleasure himself. This time, though, Dean couldn’t bring himself to leave. The inflection of his last words ghosted through Dean’s thoughts again.

 _Dean, I need you_.

Dean shivered and couldn’t tear his gaze away. Castiel folded his pants as carefully as his shirt and put them atop the dresser as well. His socks and boxers went next, removed in one smooth motion; Castiel balled them up and threw them in his laundry basket. Unashamedly naked, Castiel sat on the edge of his bed, legs spread slightly, hands clasped negligently near his dangling, limp cock. A slow exhale deflated Castiel, tension easing from his shoulders, his back curving out; an equally slow inhale reinflated him. Sitting rigidly, staring at a different corner of the room than the one in which Dean lingered, Castiel ran a thumb down his length, licked his lips, his expression simultaneously nervous and challenging.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” Castiel said. Dean stared, mesmerized, as Castiel’s cock reacted to the teasing of his finger, twitched and thickened and lengthened and reddened in the dim light that filtered through the curtains. “I’ve _always_ thought about you a lot, honestly, but you seemed out of reach.” A faint moan interrupted Castiel as he played over the slit at the head of his cock with a nail. Dean swallowed, his pulse quickened; his cock brushed the linen of his pants in reply. “After the incident last winter, I…” Castiel trailed off, eyes fluttering open and closed. “You no longer seem so distant. You helped me, saved me, appeared when I asked afterwards, let me help you. That _aroused_ you, didn’t it? When I was tending to your back? I could tell you were in pain, but when I touched you sometimes I thought – I was _sure_ – it brought you pleasure.” Castiel’s cock was fully hard and he loosely wrapped his hand around him, stroked almost indifferently. “For the first time I thought maybe you felt the same way about me as I feel about you. I thought—” He groaned and Dean squeaked around a matching moan, his cock bucking, his hands trembling with the need for self-restraint. “It had crossed my mind before that you might want me, but I told myself I was being ridiculous. You’re an angel. You must have known so many people in your life, been with so many people. But once I started to wonder…I have to know if you’re attracted to me. I have to know if I’m the only one who feels this way.”

Leaning back, Castiel spread his pale legs wider, let his eyes slip shut. His cock stuck out obscenely before him, flushed, tip leaking, his hand stroking more insistently. Whimpering, Dean stared, unable to resist his desire, unable to resist the impossible temptation of Castiel’s words. Without his conscious control, Dean’s hand slipped to his crotch, rubbed against his erection, and the vocalizations he couldn’t stop grew louder. _I shouldn’t be watching this, shouldn’t be, even if he’s talking to me, even if he wants me to see, I shouldn’t. This is wrong._ Embarrassed by his reaction, embarrassed by his inability to repress his desire, Dean turned away to face the wall and palmed himself harder.

“You don’t even realize, do you,” Castiel whispered, voice low, thick with desire. “No one else notices. I’ve checked, not my parents, not my siblings, not my friends or Alfie or anyone, none of them ever saw you. You have no idea that sometimes, I can see you. I think it’s when you’re emotional. _Especially_ when you’re turned on.”

Dean froze, horrified at the implications of Castiel’s words. All the times Dean had wondered if Castiel saw him, he _had_. All the times Dean had gotten excited watching Castiel on his own or with Alfie, all the times that Dean had gotten off while observing them…Castiel had seen him. Terrified of what he might see, bright with shame, Dean glanced over his shoulder.

Castiel was looking right at him; his lips broke into a relieved smile as their eyes met.

“May I touch your wings, Dean?” Castiel asked shyly, his hand stilling on his cock.

“No,” Dean mouthed dryly, but no sound came out. He tore his eyes away from Castiel’s, unable to meet the hope and expectation he saw on Castiel’s face, and pressed his forehead and hands to the smooth wall. “Castiel, you’re not wrong. I like you. I care for you. I …” He licked his lips, trying to work moisture into his mouth. If there was ever a moment in his existence when he needed something to drink… “I want you, Castiel. But we can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Castiel’s voice was far too close, a ghost of hot hair over the skin of Dean’s neck, and Dean shivered, his flaring wings betraying how Castiel’s proximity affected him.

“I’m your _guardian_ ,” Dean said with conviction though he knew Castiel had no means of comprehending all that Dean’s duty entailed, how paramount it was to Dean that he see his orders through. “My purpose is to watch over you and protect you, to intervene in your life as little as possible, to ensure that whatever lies in store for you _happens_ , no matter what that might be. I can’t interfere unless instructed to do so.”

“You were instructed to play with me as a child?” asked Castiel, pressing a kiss to the base of Dean’s neck. Dean squeaked in shock, jumping, fingers scrambling uselessly at the smooth wall. “You were instructed to tell Alastair to leave me alone?” Trembling hands settled on Dean’s eternally slim waist, his body manifest for all eternity as a young adult near Castiel’s actual age. “You were instructed to masturbate while watching Alfie and I have sex?” Castiel kissed him again, his hands firm as he ran them up Dean’s side, stopping to use his thumbs to knead at the base of Dean’s wings where they met his back, forcing a moan from Dean. “You were instructed to get hard when I touched your wings?” Massaging up the length of Dean’s wings, Castiel’s fingers whispered through dense plumage, steadily working up towards the sensitive glands. Dean shook in anticipation, shook with the memory of how it had felt the first time Castiel touched him there.

“Castiel, please…”

“Please _what_ , Dean?” Despite all Castiel’s apparent confidence, Dean could clearly hear the tremor of uncertainty and worry in Castiel’s voice.

There were easily a hundred ways that Dean could finish his plea, but only one won free, only one escaped all of Dean’s attempts at restraint, bypassed millennia of diligent adherence to duty, celibacy, and obedience to the exact word of the Lord’s orders. “Please touch me,” Dean whispered. Castiel moaned, with his lips pressed to Dean’s back, the sound trailing like touch over Dean’s body. The caress to Dean’s wings grew more confident. “Please touch my wings.” Castiel rubbed at him, breath heavy, body pressed close to Dean’s, naked erection pressed to the cleft of Dean’s ass through the thin fabric of Dean’s pants. “Please—” All thought was obliterated in searing bliss as Castiel’s thumbs pressed into the twin glands at the top of his wings. Dean groaned and surged back against Castiel, wings spread so wide they knocked against the opposite walls of the room. Castiel’s moan mirrored Dean’s and he rubbed harder, touch bordering into painful, squeezing out a bead of thick, musky liquid. He’d heard rumors that, in addition to its usual function keeping Dean’s feathers healthy, the oil was a powerful aphrodisiac, but Dean had never had opportunity to learn the truth until now. Castiel moved against his back, rubbing his fingers through the oil, growling possessively and rutting against Dean’s backside.

“Feels good,” Dean managed around frantic gasps. He didn’t _need_ to breathe, but his body reacted to Castiel’s stimulation by frantically drawing in air, making Dean feel light-headed and disoriented. His eyes closed against the intensity of the feeling as Castiel continued to rub against him; light like the Lord’s grace burst through Dean’s senses.

“Yes,” breathed Castiel rapturously. Dean pressed back against him more urgently and Castiel quavered under Dean’s weight but didn’t stop his movements. “So beautiful…always thought so…you’re so beautiful, Dean, your wings are…they’re _spectacular_ …I could never want anyone else after seeing you, never…not like I want you…” Castiel switched from stroking the glands to circling them and Dean’s body snapped like a whip, back jerking, legs spasming, arms reaching back desperately, Castiel’s name choking in his throat.

“Close!” Dean said, voice strangled with strain. His hips thrust uselessly, back against Castiel, forward to ineffectually brush his throbbing cock against the cloth of his pants. Wetness from his slit beaded down his thigh. He tried not to sob in pleasure as Castiel didn’t let up, rutted into him harder, held him up. “So…clo…clo…oh!” Dean convulsed, his wings catching air, the flickering lights of his feathers bursting brightly enough to cast shadows.

“Yes!”

“Oh… _oh…Cas!_ ” Dean cried out and went limp as climax took him completely, his cock spurting, his vagina achingly empty and leaking, the massaged glands dripping pungent oil. Castiel shuddered behind him, gasped out a broken _Dean_ , and hot liquid splashed on Dean’s back. Instantly, Castiel’s arms were around him, tight bound over Dean’s chest, clinging to him for support, but Dean had no strength to stand and they both collapsed to the ground. Dean’s legs bent at a painful angle but he couldn’t move enough to find a more comfortable position, all he could do was lean back against Castiel as Castiel pressed forward against him. Together, they gasped, trembling, Castiel rubbing at Dean’s chest, smearing Dean’s skin with oil. Dean had no idea if it was the touch or the musky liquid that caused his flesh to burn like he was under the rays of the scorching sun. All he knew was that he wanted, he _needed_ , more contact with Castiel, had to feel those long fingers carding through his feathers, had to have Castiel’s weight over him, required a firm grip around his cock and hardness thrusting inside his body. Now that he’d felt intimate touch one place, he needed to feel touch everywhere, needed attention to each eternally neglected part of his body. As if sensing Dean’s desperation, Castiel toyed with Dean’s nipples, touch smoothed by oil. Dean had seen couples pleasure each other thus and had tried it on his own nubs without finding the experience particularly stimulating, but Castiel touching him was electric and he moaned wantonly as pleasure like lightning forked through his body. His cock twitched, making a valiant attempt to harden again.

“Want you,” mumbled Castiel. “Want…‘m hard again, Dean, did you…how…?” Awkwardly, Castiel tried with minimal success to thrust against Dean’s body and Dean’s craving for more racheted to an even greater intensity. Desperate, he wiggled back against Castiel’s cock.

“Didn’t…think it’s the oil…need you, Castiel, need you…need you…”

Leaving one hand to toy with Dean’s nipples, Castiel manhandled Dean to a new position, moved him until Dean was on his knees, his wings draped to his sides, his hands limp on the floor, his face pressed against the wall, Castiel humping his ass. Dean whimpered as the touch to his nipples finally stopped; he was fully hard again and empty, horribly empty. One of Castiel’s arms pressed heavily along Dean’s spine, filling the narrow gap between Dean’s wings, applying pressure to both glands, his hand roughly cupping Dean’s head and pressing him against the wall. Dean had never known Castiel to be so aggressive and it enflamed him further to think that Castiel wanted him so desperately. Castiel’s other hand untied the loose bow holding up Dean’s pants, tugged them down about his ankles, traced the line of Dean’s thigh and hip, traced down Dean’s crack and froze.

“Please…” Dean begged, sliding himself backwards until Castiel’s finger caught on the end of his slit. A broken moan escaped Dean, fragmenting around panting breaths, but Castiel didn’t move.

“I don’t understand,” mumbled Castiel. His tone betrayed more than confusion but Dean couldn’t put a name to the other emotions, all he knew was that they hurt, made his chest tighten, left him afraid that Castiel was on the verge of drawing away.

“Fill me!” implored Dean, tilting his hips back further, forcing Castiel’s finger to penetrate him meagerly. It wasn’t enough, but it was still _amazing_ , and Dean bit his lip and thrust back despite the awkward angle.

“I thought you were a man…” Castiel trailed off distractedly. The arm along Dean’s back went slack, though Castiel didn’t pull away the finger with Dean, allowed Dean to satisfy himself as best he could.

“I _am_ ,” anger mixed with desperation in Dean’s reply. “But I’m…” He moaned as Castiel’s hand moved minutely and suddenly Dean had a finger inside him to the knuckle. Redoubling his efforts, Dean’s hips works even as he tried to form a coherent thought to explain himself. “Angel – I’m an angel – my genitalshave nothing to do with my gender – aren’t humans the same?” An endless litany in Dean’s head screamed for _more_ even as he worried that Castiel might stop. “Please, Castiel, _please_ ,two fingers – may I have two?”

“Sure…I…I guess…” Fumbling, Castiel waited until Dean had pivoted nearly all the way forward, removing the one finger, and when Dean pressed back again he was filled by two, that much more satisfying, that much more girth spreading his wet hole, that much more pressure over places within him that had never been touched. He sighed with satisfaction but couldn’t surrender completely to the pleasure, not with how tense Castiel was behind him. All he wanted was to thrust himself on those fingers until he lost his fine, all he wanted was for Castiel to replace his hand with his cock, but Castiel’s unhappiness and uncertainty were so palpable that Dean couldn’t bring himself to continue. Reluctantly, Dean pulled free, gathered his wings close, kicked his pants off, turned so he straddled Castiel’s lap. Dean could finally see Castiel’s beautiful face, torn between arousal and anxiety. Castiel’s eyes were blown with lust, his breath came in quick puffs, but he lips were fixed in a worried frown. Dean draped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, encircled them with his wings until the only light came from the glow of fireflies, the air taking on the deep green and gold hues of Dean’s wings. Tentatively, Dean gave Castiel a gentle kiss. Castiel shuddered, wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist, and shifted the other back to between Dean’s legs, hesitantly thrust his two fingers into Dean’s body. Moaning with pleasure, Dean pressed his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder, Castiel’s intent gaze as heavy on Dean’s body as a touch.

“Is this alright, Castiel?” Dean asked, trying to fight through the haze of arousal enough to make sure that he wasn’t taking advantage. He couldn’t resist grinding against Castiel’s hand, though; Castiel’s fingers bent within him, forced another moan from Dean, forced tears from his eyes.

“I’m not sure,” Castiel admitted. He pressed a nervous kiss to Dean’s neck that was inadequate to abate the sinking feeling in Dean’s stomach, pressed his fingers against the walls of Dean’s channel once more, actions contradictory to his words. Fear mingled unpleasantly with the desire coiled in Dean’s insides. Did Dean disgust Castiel now? Had Castiel never noticed the feminine curve of Dean’s waist, the over-fullness of Dean’s breasts? Had he assumed those were features of Dean’s being an angel? Dean’s only reassurance was that despite Castiel’s reticence, the thick cock that occasionally brushed Dean’s own was as hard as ever. “I’ve never…I’m not _attracted_ to…to _women_ …”

“I’m _not_ a woman,” said Dean, grimacing. To emphasize his point, Dean reached between them, grasped both their cocks in one hand and gave a firm stroke. Castiel mewled with pleasure, his hips struggling to push into Dean’s hand despite Dean’s weight in his lap. “I just have a _vagina_.” The word prompted a shudder through Castiel; he went dead still and Dean knew he’d pushed too far. “I’m sorry,” Dean forced himself to stop moving, to stop touching Castiel’s cock, to stop his hips moving against Castiel’s hand. “I knew this was wrong. I made assumptions when you said…those things you said….about your feelings.” Dean forced himself to stop hoping. “You don’t have to want me. You _shouldn’t_ want me. It’s alright, Castiel.”

Unfolding his wings, Dean started to rise, body aching with disappointment as he forced his rationality to supremacy over every instinct that said to screw himself stupid on Castiel’s gorgeous cock. Dean suppressed a sad whimper as Castiel’s hand came free of his body, Dean’s legs trembled, and he rose high on his knees, preparing to stand. Castiel surged forward, interrupted him, wrapped an arm between Dean’s wings, the other around his waist, and held Dean in place, pressing an ear to Dean’s thumping heart.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered. “I _do_ want you, Dean. I just need a minute, okay? I wasn’t expecting…I assumed you’d be like me, except with wings. Of course you’re different…I should have realized…”

“Nothing you don’t want to do,” murmured Dean comfortingly. “I…care…about you.” _I love you. I was made to love you._ “I only want you to be happy.”

“That’s what I want for you,” replied Castiel, mouthing a kiss to the soft skin between Dean’s breasts. “You’ve served mankind since you were born. Has anyone ever asked you what you want?”

“I want to serve,” Dean reassured him, easing back down into Castiel’s lap. Castiel hugged him tighter, Dean embraced him in return, encompassed them once more in his wings. Their heads lined up, each resting on the others’ shoulder. “I want to protect, to support, to watch until I’m needed.”

“You’re needed,” Castiel breathed. “You’re needed so much, here, with me. Not only watching, Dean. I want to be with you, I want to talk with you, I want share _everything_ with you.”

“Don’t you think that’s weird, though?” Dean hated to bring up his worries when Castiel was calming down, but unlike earlier, Castiel seemed to be listening and Dean couldn’t with a clear conscience proceed. “I’m unspeakably older than you, Castiel. I’ve been watching you since the day you were born. I can’t pretend I don’t want you, but that you want me in return…?”

“Maybe it should bother me,” said Castiel, snuggling closer. The air beneath Dean’s wings was warm, Castiel’s skin against Dean’s warmer still, and Dean hated voicing his concerns, hated that he might say something that would result in him never experiencing this again. “I feel safe when I’m with you. I feel protected. I feel…I feel _loved_.” Castiel took a deep breath, let it go slowly and _melted_ against Dean’s body. _I love you, Castiel. I will never do anything to hurt you, never._ “I love knowing that you’re watching over me. And when you’re actually here, when I can see you, hear you, touch you, it’s even better.”

“This is…it’s taboo, Castiel,” Dean confessed reluctantly. “I’ve never done anything like this. Angels and humans…don’t do this.”

“That can’t be true,” said Castiel. “I’ve read about the Nephilim. Aren’t they half-human, half-angel?”

“That’s only done at the Lord’s express command,” explained Dean. “Angels and human couples are specially chosen to procreate – those who will produce the best offspring are selected and ordered to join.”

“You make it sound so…dry,” Castiel said, troubled. “So angels never has sex with humans unless God orders it?”

“Angels never have sex with anyone if God doesn’t order it,” Dean corrected. Castiel pulled back to stare at Dean incredulously, golden lights reflecting to infinity in the black of his pupils.

“You’re a _virgin_?” Castiel exclaimed. Dean flushed bright red and looked away.

“Well…I mean…we just…” In _his_ mind, what they’d done together that day qualified as sex, but perhaps Castiel saw things differently. Disproportionately embarrassed, Dean tried to find someplace to look other than Castiel’s face, his beautifully curved back, the rise of his ass, his firm chest, his hard cock.

“How can you expect me to believe that you don’t have profound feelings for me when you’ve allowed me to be the first person to touch you in hundreds of years?” demanded Castiel. Dean blinked in surprise. Those words were among the _last_ he’d expected and they renewed the warm glow coursing through him.

“Thousands of years,” Dean corrected, cheeks hot. Castiel shook his head in amazement. “I _do_ have profound feelings for you, Castiel. But I have no expectations that you’ll reciprocate them. My relationship with the mortals I protect has always been, by definition, one sided.”

“So those you protect take your presence for granted?” Anger flared in Castiel’s eyes, a hardness that would have bothered Dean except that he knew it was for his sake. Knowing that Castiel cared enough to get upset on his behalf felt strangely good. Other than his brother Sam, Sam’s partner Gabriel, and a few other angels with whom Dean was close, no one had ever spared a thought for Dean’s welfare.

“I’ve never felt taken for granted,” Dean shrugged. “My charges thank me, they pray to me and on my behalf, but they don’t _befriend_ me. And they can’t see me unless I will it.”

“I’m your first?” Castiel asked, threading his hands through the feathers of Dean’s wings. A feeling that Dean could only name pure _love_ pulsed through his body.

“You’re my first,” agreed Dean, easing back into a wonderful, close embrace with Castiel.

There was no distance between them. Dean felt Castiel’s heartbeat reverberating through his body, felt every inhale and exhale, delighted in the proximity of another person whom he adored more than his own life. Their conversation eased his mind, dissipated his worries, and though a small voice still protested that what they were doing was wrong, Dean surrendered to his desires. Embraced closely, they lay still for unknown minutes, unknown hours, and Dean felt content in a way that he’d never experienced before, not even when he’d snuggled close with his fellow angels, not even with his parents or his brother.

The transition from holding each other close to trading unhurried kisses happened gradually, comfortably, naturally. Castiel’s reluctance was gone, replaced instead with tenderness, soft caresses and gentle lips and a hot tongue suggesting that Dean open his mouth to allow Castiel in. Languid kisses occupied them for a lifetime, for an eternity that Dean never wanted to end. Heat grew in him, spread to every limb and the bright glow of his wings brightened. Castiel’s lips caressed Dean’s, his hands pet through Dean’s feathers, his cock brushed against Dean’s. Dean tangled a hand in Castiel’s messy hair, curled the other around Castiel’s waist. Small noises died in Castiel’s throat as their kisses became more passionate, as Dean’s fingers pressed into his back. Only half-aware of what he did, Dean began to grind against Castiel’s lap, longing for the intimacy of earlier. One of Castiel’s hands left Dean’s feathers, slipped down his back, curled over his ass and nudged him forward until each rut of Dean’s hips dragged wet over Castiel’s erection. Dean rolled eagerly in the contact, loving the feel of hardness between his legs, and each of Castiel’s hands mimicked Dean’s movements, trailing up and down his spine, caressing the curve of his behind.

“Want you,” Dean panted when the anticipation grew beyond what he could contain. He kissed Castiel desperately, nipped at his lip, drew away though Castiel eagerly tried to follow him. “Want you…”

“Then take me,” whispered Castiel. It was all the invitation Dean needed, all he had dreamed of. Lifting himself to his knees, he reached between their bodies and held Castiel still. He’d never touched a cock before other than his own; Castiel was hard yet silky smooth, thick and damp with sweat and pre-release, sticky with his earlier come. Inexpertly, Dean positioned himself over Castiel, pressed their chests together. Castiel helped, reaching around Dean and between his legs to line them up as Dean descended. The first press of cock against his wet opening felt _huge_ , so far beyond anything Dean had experienced using his own fingers. He whimpered, confused by how he felt simultaneously frightened yet desperate.

“Are you okay, Dean?” There was a confidence to Castiel that had been lacking before, a tenderness. He held Dean with a reassuring embrace, steadying, recognizing Dean’s inexperience. Dean nodded, though he was far from sure that he was alright, his chin bumping against Castiel’s forehead. Castiel chuckled.

“You okay, Castiel?” Dean echoed, easing himself down a hairsbreadth more. Dean gasped and tensed at the feeling; Castiel moaned and rolled his hips up slightly, legs taut with the effort of restraining himself.

“I’m great.” Dean lowered himself further and Castiel’s voice cracked, low and gravelly and wonderful. Pressing his head to Dean’s shoulder, Castiel clutched at Dean’s wings and shook. “Great…I’m—” Castiel shattered into a deep, drawn out groan as Dean mustered his courage, threw his head back and lowered himself in one smooth motion. Pleasure beyond anything Dean had ever imagined tingled out from where he was filled, coursed through his blood. Tears leaked from the corner of Dean’s eyes and he gave himself time to adjust to the new feeling. Wrapping his arms around Dean, Castiel cradled each wing, his elbows at the base, his fingers curled over the shoulder joint where Dean’s wings met his back, palms against Dean’s oil glands, and pressed his sweaty forehead to Dean’s shoulder. Dean could feel every thump of Castiel’s heart vibrate through where their bodies were joined.

There was nothing elegant or skilled in the desperate sex that followed. Dean lifted himself and lowered himself tentatively at first but with increasing confidence, increasing speed, until his thighs slapped against Castiel’s with every descent. Castiel clung to Dean, squeezing his wings and sobbing into Dean’s shoulder, warning at every stroke that he was about to burst yet somehow holding his climax off. Dean’s body thrummed bliss as he soared higher and higher, the feeling as glorious as flying, his cock rubbing on the skin of Castiel’s belly as Castiel’s cock rubbed at the most sensitive places within Dean’s body. Each time Dean was penetrated most deeply there was a burst of incandescent heat that he needed, he _craved_ , and he chased that feeling incessantly. Oil leaked from his glands, squeezed out by Castiel’s palms. The musky smell drove Dean wild and he lost what little self-restraint he had left, slamming himself up and down as hard and fast as he could, his thoughts begging for harder and faster still. Castiel gasped and tried to say Dean’s name, tried again, again, choking on it as he climaxed. All Dean could feel was disappointment – Castiel was done and Dean wasn’t and he needed more, so much more. Grinding against Castiel’s fading erection, Dean chased his own release.

A fumbling hand left Dean’s wings, trailed down Dean’s side to his cock and stroked Dean awkwardly, the oil coating Castiel’s hand smoothing the way. Dean groaned.

“Come on, Dean,” Castiel encouraged, voice dry. His stroke grew more confident and Dean squeezed tears from his eyes, thrusting forward into Castiel’s grip and back onto the cock softening within him. “I’ll take care of you.” Castiel’s other hand shifted, fingers pressed into each of Dean’s oil glands, and that additional stimulus gave the push Dean needed. With a shrill cry Dean came, rutting uncontrollably, muscles clenching, wings spreading, cock streaking Castiel’s chest with white. The world went black for long moments; when he returned to himself, he was squirming against Castiel for even the least contact, voice breaking as he weakly moaned.

“Castiel… _my_ Castiel…love you…I love you so much…”

“My beautiful angel,” Castiel kissed the words into Dean’s neck, stroking through Dean’s wings as they went as limp and boneless as the rest of Dean’s body. “My Dean.”

* * *

The next morning found Dean lying face down on Castiel’s bed, Castiel straddling his ass and pinning him in place as he gently massaged from the tip of Dean’s wing to his shoulder blade, rubbing along the corded muscles and air-light bones that supported the structures, combing oil over every pinion, grooming Dean. The delicate touch of lithe fingers drove Dean wild, left him whimpering and straining to move against Castiel’s weight on his back, desperate to feel even the inadequate brush of fabric over his cock. The most remarkable part wasn’t how good it felt, though, it was Castiel’s erection resting heavy and thick along Dean’s spine, proof that Castiel found tending to Dean’s wings as arousing as Dean found having his wings tended. By the time Castiel had finished lavishing attention on the last pinion, Dean was a quivering, incoherent mess, scarce capable of begging for the touches he’d been denied so long. Castiel’s silent answer was to shift forward, lift Dean’s wings until they were extended perpendicular to Dean’s back, and grunt and thrust his hardness urgently into the narrow space thus created. Copious quantities of oil and the soft brush of downy feathers against Castiel’s velvety flesh provided the lubrication, and Dean felt every thrust against his skin, every touch to his feathers, reveled in the hard press of Castiel’s hands as they worked along the muscles towards Dean’s back. The feeling was indescribable, pleasurable in a way Dean had never dreamed of; when Castiel finally reached Dean’s glands and kneaded them, Dean came with screamed, cock spurting into the bedding. Castiel followed moments later, streaking hot between Dean’s wings, coating the freshly-groomed feathers with semen that mixed with Dean’s oil. Everywhere the mixture touched Dean’s flesh burned with blissful fire, and when Castiel dragged his cock through the moisture he cried out, hardened instantly, and thrust into the gooey mess with even more urgency than before, climaxing a second time in minutes.

Beyond dazed, Dean rutted against the damp bedding and whimpered as Castiel climbed from his back, broken pleas failing to communicate the ferocity of Dean’s need. Fingers ran through the liquid pooled along Dean’s spine; a moment later a thumb pressed against Dean’s lips and he parted to allow Castiel in. Come and oil coated his mouth, bitter and pungent and intoxicating. Dean sucked at Castiel’s finger eagerly, craving the taste though he couldn’t swallow it down. Instead, it lingered in his mouth, driving him higher and higher, until he was crazed with the need to feel Castiel on his body. Dean’s pleas filled the air and Castiel obliged, dragging Dean into a seated position, and as Dean begged helplessly and kneaded at every firm inch of Castiel’s body he could reach, Castiel used semen and oil to finger himself open. By the time he was stretched, Castiel was hard again; he gave Dean a watery-eyed smile as he positioned Dean’s cock and lowered himself around Dean. The pressure of it was unbelievable, the tightness causing friction down his length incredible, and Dean absolutely lost his mind, forgetting that he might hurt Castiel, forgetting to think of Castiel’s enjoyment, forgetting everything but the searing pleasure that coursed through him when Dean sank his full length into Castiel’s gorgeous ass. Dean came with his fingers dug into Castiel’s hips, dragging his charge into every thrust and chanting his name like a prayer. He neither slowed or softened after his climax; he rolled Castiel on his back, held Castiel’s legs to the sides and thrust until Castiel sobbed beneath him and came over his belly, thrust until Dean screamed through another painfully good release.

They stopped long enough to clean up, to take away the soiled clothing and bed sheets. Castiel showered; Dean to use a washcloth to scrub away sweat and come and oil. An attempt at breakfast Castiel degenerated when Dean interrupted Castiel’s attempt to cook, unable to resist dropping to his knees and taking Castiel’s half-hard cock into his mouth. The eggs burned before Castiel spurted, panting, into Dean’s mouth. Dean swished the strange-tasting, bitter substance over his tongue, incapable of swallowing. When Castiel learned that Dean intended to spit it out, he dragged Dean into a kiss, licked his own come from every corner of Dean’s mouth, and hummed contentedly as he afterwards ate his rubbery eggs. Dean could do nothing but stare at the wonder that was Castiel Novak, his beloved mortal charge. They made strained small talk, beginning the long process of getting to know each other intellectually as well as they were getting to know each other physically.

The afternoon was similarly wasted, if such blissful pursuits could be considered wasteful. Castiel returned the blow job, followed it up by nervously licking at Dean’s clit until Dean was wrecked with pleasure, finished by filling Dean again and thrusting them both to yet another climax. By that point, Castiel was exhausted; as he climaxed, he collapsed against the bed, writhing feebly with bliss, mumbling, the word _love_ coming through loud and clear, over and over again, filling Dean with joy. Dean soothed Castiel, eased him and praised him and dared to hope that the future might hold many more such days for them. Dean’s wings precluded him lying down except on his stomach, so instead he sat cross-legged on the bed, gathered Castiel in his arms and cradled him, wrapped in Dean’s wings, until Castiel’s brilliant eyes slipped shut and his beautiful smile faded into the peaceful expression of deep sleep.

The next day proved much the same, and the one after it as well, until they’d spent nearly a week making love with occasional breaks for Castiel to eat and sleep, longer interludes when they talked quietly and finally grew acquainted. Dean knew Castiel intimately, having overheard every conversation of his life, but Castiel knew little of Dean, and neither knew how compatible they actually were. Both learned quickly that they found the company of the other wonderful even when they weren’t making love. All the kindness and intelligence Dean had observed in Castiel was on display as they talked, and Dean loved him the more for it.

Through it all, a growing concern nagged at Dean. If anyone found out what he was doing with Castiel he’d be in trouble, he’d be reassigned, and he’d never see Castiel again.


	4. Chapter 4

It was eight days from when they’d reached an understanding when Dean’s willpower cracked. Castiel lay peacefully asleep, one arm curled around Dean’s waist, but Dean could hardly look at Castiel without feeling like he’d betrayed Castiel’s trust. Now that Dean was so attached to Castiel, now that they were so entangled, how could Dean do his job correctly? How could he allow Castiel to face any risk, even those that the Lord dictated Castiel _should_ face, when Dean knew he could prevent all and ensure that no harm befell his love? How could Dean expose himself to the profound dangers he sometimes faced, knowing that if something harmed Dean, Castiel would be aggrieved? It had been wrong of Dean to allow this to proceed; were he strong as he ought to be, he would never have appeared to Castiel that night a week ago, would never have let Castiel tend his wings six months ago, would never have prevented the little toddler from hitting his head on a table all those years ago. It was too late now. Castiel faced a lifetime of unknown risks and unknown dangers and Dean had increased those by his behavior and choices. Dean didn’t deserve to be Castiel’s guardian angel. With a flick of his wings, he ascended to heaven before he could convince himself to stay, leaving Castiel truly alone for the first time in twenty years.

Dean appeared in his modest apartment, a single white room furnished with sink, a mirror, flowing drapes, a book case with a few tomes, and a reclining chair designed to comfortably sleep Dean’s winged body, upholstered in red velvet. Dean had never bothered to gather more belongings; he was hardly there. Usually he was eager to leave, because leaving meant he had a new assignment and Dean lived for his job. Now, having a couple minutes in his own space helped Dean gather his wits and firm his resolve. Stepping out into the hallway, he headed towards the building’s main entrance, intent on walking to the assignments office rather than flying.

“Dean!”

_Crap, I should have flown, I should have…_

“Dean, don’t you have an assignment right now? What are you doing here? Did something happen to your charge?”

“Hey, Sam,” Dean replied woodenly, plastering a false smile onto his face and turning to face his brother. Technically, all angels with whom Dean shared rank were his brothers, for the Lord had declared them so, but Sam and Dean were unusual in that they had both of their angelic parents actually in common. Pregnancies among angels were rare; for the same couple to have multiple children was even more rare. Mary and John had been dedicated to each other, though, and had been mated during a peaceful period of the ancient past. They’d born Dean and Sam only centuries apart. “Everything is fine. I came back to request a different angel be assigned to my charge.” Saying the words allowed seared painfully through Dean’s mind, caused his chest to clench tightly. The shocked expression on Sam’s face only exacerbated the pain.

“No! _You_? You’ve _never_ failed an assignment!” Sam exclaimed, eyebrows rising so high they disappeared beneath Sam’s long chestnut bangs. His brother was good looking, his face more feminine than Dean’s, his body more masculine, though they were both biologically intersex.

“Well, I’ve failed now,” said Dean gruffly. Turning away before Sam could see the tears in his eyes, Dean took deliberate steps towards the building’s main exit. “How about you, are you between jobs? Or have you and Gabriel finally received orders to stay together full-time until one of you gets pregnant?” Which of them would bear a child was a topics Dean didn’t want to think about until he absolutely had no choice but to learn the answer.

Sam was in front of him instantly, wings spread to block the way, a hand outstretched to arrest Dean’s progress. Dean froze. “What’s going on, Dean?”

“Nothing,” Dean lied, resisting the urge to continue this absurd game by leap-frogging his brother to the exit.

“Really?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” snapped Dean. “Maybe when this is all said and done…”

“Bullshit,” Sam said. Dean blinked, surprised to hear the swear word fall so easily from his brother’s lips. “If you didn’t want to talk about it, you’d be gone already. You wouldn’t have even come to the dormitory, you’d have gone straight to the assignment office. Something _is_ going on, and you’re going to tell me what it is. How about we head back to earth, keep an eye on your mortal and sort this out?”

Disgruntled, Dean shifted from foot to foot, his wings flaring to catch air and then lowering again. He shouldn’t talk. He shouldn’t go back to earth. He shouldn’t risk seeing Castiel again. He should go directly to the office and turn in his resignation, accept the embarrassment and the sniggers that would follow him around when word got out of his failure. The urge to escape was powerful, but Sam’s firm expression, pinning Dean in place, was even more compelling. Dean struggled against Sam’s determination and his own desire to return to the warmth of Castiel’s embrace. When Dean didn’t back down, Sam quirked an eyebrow out him and gave him an incredulous smirk, and finally Dean surrendered, wings and shoulders slumping.

“Fine.”

An instant later he and Sam sat in Castiel’s living room. Castiel was still asleep, fortunately; Dean could feel his love’s presence palpably through the walls in a way unlike anything Dean had experienced during previous assignments. Castiel’s breaths were like unto Dean breathing; their hearts beat in tandem. Sam frowned, sniffed the air, gave Dean a sidelong look, and settled onto the armrest of Castiel’s sitting chair; Dean collapsed heavily onto the edge of the couch, wings spread out to his sides.

“What’s going on, Dean?” Sam asked, meeting Dean’s eyes intensely. Dean swallowed hard, eyes swimming with tears.

“I made a mistake,” said Dean. “I am not capable of continuing to guard here as I should. Can we leave it at that?”

“From everything I can sense, your mortal is fine,” said Sam, his tone making it clear he knew that wasn’t what Dean meant. “I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“I…” Dean colored, searching for the right words, searching for _any_ words he could admit to. “I…” _I showed myself to my mortal unnecessarily, I used magic to protect him even when I wasn’t called upon to do so, I grew jealous of others who my mortal felt affection for, I craved Castiel for myself, I told him so, I told him everything, I appeared because he asked me to, I made love to him, I told him I adored him._ “I fell in love.”

Sam snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dean, of course you did. We all love our humans. I even loved that jerk Marcus Antonius. It’s not like we have much choice.”

“No, Sam,” Dean said, angrier than he’d have anticipated. Sam’s eyes widened at Dean’s tone, his expression giving way to a tight frown. “I _love_ him.”

“Like…love him?” asked Sam. Dean had no idea what Sam was trying to get at.

“I love him – as a person, as a man, as a…as a _partner_ , the way humans fall in love, the way our parents were in love, the way you love Gabriel,” Dean explained in a rush before the admission could choke him. “I _love_ Castiel.”

There was a painfully long pause. Dean slowly withered under Sam’s scrutiny.

“Oh.”

Dean flinched to have that single word be the only answer he received. Shoulders hunched, he stared at the floor, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, shaking with the jitters.

“So that’s why you want a reassignment?” Sam posited uncertainly.

“Not exactly,” muttered Dean. He waited for Sam to say something, hoped desperately that he would. Chancing a glance at his brother, Dean found Sam staring him down intently, patiently, and Dean knew that nothing more would be said until Dean explained himself further. “He, um, he knows.”

“You _told_ him?”

“Yes – no – that’s not how it happened,” Dean fumbled helplessly. “Castiel can _see_ me, sometimes, even when I’m incorporeal. He knew I was around, knew where I was. I was hurt helping him last winter and he wanted to help me, and I let him – I know, I _know_ I shouldn’t have, okay, please don’t say it, I should have asked for reassignment then – and after that things were, I don’t know, different. And then last week he…he asked me to…look, he initiated everything that happened, okay? I didn’t stop him, because he wanted it, because I wanted it too, but if he hadn’t spoken first, if he hadn’t said…I would never have…oh, God, Sam, what am I going to do? I don’t want to leave him, I don’t want to…”

“Woah, woah, slow down, Dean – what did he initiate?” Sam asked. “What happened? Why does this whole place smell like it’s been coated in your scent, and why, _why_ , are you seeking a reassignment if you don’t want to?”

Tears flooded Dean’s eyes and he couldn’t bear to look up, couldn’t risk Sam seeing. “He wanted to be with me. And...and I wanted to be with him. So...we did.”

“You’ve been having sex with your charge,” Sam said, bluntness cause Dean to cringe. “Alright. What’s the problem?”

“Huh?” Startled, Dean jerked his head up to find Sam eying him curiously.

“Wait, Dean, do you mean that before this you’ve _never_ slept with a human you were guarding?”

“No! Of course not!” Dean spluttered. “I had _orders_ , Sam, precise orders, and I followed them, I always followed them to the letter until now!”

“Did you orders explicitly say you _shouldn’t_ share a physical relationship with this man – Castiel?” Sam said, saying the unfamiliar name uncertainly.

Dean combed his memory, tried to remember what, exactly, his orders said. It’d been more than 20 years since he last saw them, and though his memory was good the orders had been generic. “Same thing as they usually say,” Dean hedged. “Named the mortal I was to watch, that kind of thing. I guess I didn’t read it that carefully, but they never mention sex. Not getting physically involved is, like, standing order number 1.”

“It’s actually standing order 243,” Sam amended dryly. “Dean, have you ever _wanted_ to sleep with one of your charges before?” Dean shook his head. “What’s different about Castiel?” Dean shrugged. It was impossible to put into words all the things that were separated Castiel from Dean’s usual charges. Castiel was smart and funny, attractive and caring, loyal and helpful, so tender and sweet. “You said he could see you. Didn’t that strike you as weird?” Dean shrugged again. “Have you ever met a mortal who could see a guardian angel, even their own, unless we manifested?” Dean shook his head again. “Yeah, neither have I. I think we need to get a look at your orders.”

“I can’t—”

“Dean—”

“—I can’t leave Castiel,” Dean finished. He’d been so close to leaving, he’d known if he came back he’d not be able to leave again, and he’d been right. Castiel was feet away from him, sleeping innocently and happily, assuming Dean yet beside him. The thought of how much it would hurt Castiel to wake alone was more painful than any physical injury Dean could remember experiencing in his entire duration.

“I’m not suggesting you leave him,” Sam gave him a gentle smile that made Dean shift with embarrassment. “I’ll go look and let you know. Gabriel is busy, so it’s not like I have anything better to do.” Sam and Gabriel had been lovers for a long time, but it was only recently that they had been authorized to reproduce, to become an official family. Of course, Gabriel was an arch-angel, so the normal rules scarce applied to him.

“Thanks, Sam,” said Dean gratefully.

“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam rose and crossed to Dean, giving him a quick hug. “Take care of Castiel, too. There’s something weird going on here. I’ll be back soon.”

Sam vanished with the sound of flapping wings. Hunched on the couch, Dean didn’t move for a long time, lost in thought. Dean’s orders didn’t say anything they didn’t already know; Sam wasn’t going to find any answers there. Dean could still go, report directly to the office and demand that he be replaced. If he did that, he’d never see Castiel again, but what future was there for them? Castiel was human. In a short sixty or seventy years, he’d die and Dean would be alone. That was the best case scenario. Worst case, they might yet break up before the end of the summer, or Castiel might grow to love another, or Castiel might die young, or Castiel’s destiny might steer him down dark paths that Dean couldn’t protect him from, or any of a thousand tragedies that could befall a mortal. They barely knew each other – or, rather, Castiel barely knew Dean. All Castiel had was a fantasy of a savior, an illusion of a winged man who was always there for him, who would never leave him. That was not a healthy foundation for a relationship. Dean knew Castiel better, but his angelic devotion wasn’t much any more appropriate as a form of affection. They were still exploring how they got along _together_ , had scarcely had a real conversation. It was naive to think they were really in love, absurd to consider that there was any hope for them going forward.

No amount of telling himself that could change Dean’s conviction that he adored Castiel, didn’t cause Dean to feel any less certain that he wanted to spend the rest of his existence in Castiel’s arms.

Something clattered in the bedroom and Dean looked up sharply, staring at the door.

“Dean?” There was an edge of panic to Castiel’s voice, loud even through the closed bedroom door, followed by the heavy noise of feet hitting the ground. “Dean!” Dean cringed. If that was the effect that waking up alone had on Castiel, how would he feel if Dean really left? If Dean gave him no explanation? Guilt swamped Dean. He’d been so close to abandoning Castiel forever. Castiel would never even have learned where Dean had gone, and Dean’s replacement would only have shown themselves if needed. The door from the bedroom jerked open with a clatter and Castiel stumbled, naked, into the living room. Frantic eyes scanned the room, alit on Dean, and Castiel heaved a huge, deflating sigh, crossed to the couch, skirted Dean’s wings, jumped up behind and Dean and curled himself around Dean’s back, holding him close and shaking. “I woke up and you were gone. I thought...it doesn’t matter. You’re here.” Castiel kissed the back of Dean’s neck. “Thank God you’re here.”

“Castiel, I—” Dean choked back the words on the verge of confessing everything, of telling Castiel he had to leave and wouldn’t be coming back. Maybe Sam would find something that helped. Maybe Sam wouldn’t. Either way, Dean should leave. Either way, Dean knew his heart he wouldn’t be able to make himself leave again. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

Folding his legs into Dean’s lap, Castiel collapsed against Dean’s back, breathing ragged, a hand cupping one of Dean’s small breasts, the other pressing the slight soft bulge of Dean’s stomach. Castiel buried his face in one of Dean’s wings, humid bursts of air brushing through Dean’s feathers. “You said this was wrong,” Castiel whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Dean’s spine. “You said it was forbidden. Are you in trouble? Will you get recalled to heaven?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted, shifting his shoulders as Castiel kissed up to his neck. “I thought I’d get in trouble, but now…” _Sam implied that other angels have been with those they guarded, implied they’d done so without negative repercussions. But even if I were to get in trouble, does that matter to me anymore? Does anything matter, in comparison to how much Castiel matters? Would I defy heaven’s will for Castiel?_ The thought frightened him. Twenty years knowing Castiel and Dean was considering throwing over a lifetime of devotion for the uncertainty of young love.

Castiel slipped one hand up Dean’s breast, caught a nipple between his fingers and teased it taut. His other hand slid down Dean’s abdomen, fingers slipped beneath the waist band of Dean’s pants, spread to skirt the base of Dean’s small cock, curled to toy with Dean’s balls. Arousal competed with the worries plaguing Dean and he moaned pitifully, body instantly desperate for more. On a purely physical level, how he reacted to Castiel was incredible, how Castiel reacted to Dean equally so. Dean was glad he’d never done anything like this before with anyone else. He wanted this to be special, unique; he didn’t want to ever compare his experiences with Castiel to intimacy with anyone else. He wanted to give this part of himself to Castiel completely, without reservation.

_There won’t be anyone else, ever, for me. However this ends..._

Licks and kisses shivered down Dean’s spine, Castiel sucking Dean’s skin into his mouth, nipping at it, causing slight spikes of pain which Castiel quickly soothed with laps of his tongue. Dean trembled, his cock growing hard, Castiel’s matching erection firm against his back.

“So this is okay? Is us being together okay?” asked Castiel, voice deep with desire.

“I don’t know what will happen,” Dean breathed, pushing back against Castiel’s cock. “But I’ll be here.”

Hot, wet lips mouthed over Dean’s oil gland, jolting Dean unexpectedly. Dean’s groan broke as Castiel licked Dean into his mouth and sucked hard, forcing oil out. A deep, guttural noise more like a growl than a groan rattled through Castiel’s chest and lungs, reverberated through Dean’s body. “My angel,” snarled Castiel, nipping at the gland hard enough to make Dean whimper in pain then drawing it soothingly into his mouth again. “ _Mine_.” Castiel used his body weight to lean Dean forward, shifted his legs so that he knelt straddling Dean on the couch, used the hand at Dean’s crotch to pivot Dean’s hips back. Castiel’s other hand moved like lightning to catch the back of Dean’s neck and slam Dean forward against the coffee table. Dean barely got his arms beneath his head to protect himself. Drinking Dean’s oil always brought out an aggressive, possessive streak in Castiel. Dean thought it should scare him,but instead it turned him on as nothing else did, left Dean weak with need and desperate for Castiel to use Dean’s body until they both lost their mind with rapture. Intentionally avoiding touch to Dean’s cock, Castiel jerked Dean’s pants out of the way, revealing Dean’s leaking slit.

“You get so wet for me,” moaned Castiel in awe, rutting his cock against Dean’s crack. His erection caught at Dean’s vagina but didn’t go in, slid back and forth easily through the wetness at Dean’s crotch without penetrating. “Never thought I’d like this but... _fuck_ , Dean...” Dean wasn’t sure if the dirty language or Castiel’s cock pressing into him prompted his breathy moan. The more they’d done together, the more confident and comfortable Castiel had grown, but swearing was new and shockingly arousing. Dean’s body spread easily for Castiel, slick and hot as hardness slid into him smoothly. “Your...your va...your _pussy_ feels _so damn good_...” Castiel bottomed out, Dean shaking with pleasure around him, and Castiel immediately drew back slowly, withdrawing nearly all the way. Pressing Dean more insistently against the table, Castiel held Dean’s hips in place with a firm forearm wedged between Dean’s legs. “ _Hot_ and _wet_ and _tight_...” Castiel thrust in teasingly slow; Dean tried to rut back for more contact but Castiel held him still. “So good, _so damn good_ , Dean...I love it...” Another slow, steady withdrawal left Dean whimpering with desperation. Lips came to rest on the gland Castiel had yet to kiss, licked up Dean’s leaking oil, sucked out more. As the flavor inundated Castiel’s mouth, Castiel groaned and slammed into Dean hard, balls slapping against Dean’s as their bodies met. “Can’t resist you.” Hitching Dean’s hips up further, Castiel jerked out and thrust in to Dean again. “Don’t _want_ to resist you. You’re _mine_.” Another thrust filled Dean so hard it rocked his whole body, caused the table to skitter an inch across the floor. “Not heaven’s, not God’s, _mine_.” Castiel’s finger found Dean’s clit and Dean sobbed into his arm, already close to his climax. Immobilized as he was, Dean still managed to rock his hips slightly, meeting every hard thrust as Castiel filled him, as always lost to reason near instantly, absorbed in the wondrous feeling of being joined.

“ _Castiel_!” Come spattered the floor beneath Dean, streaking white over the pale carpet. Castiel didn’t slow, using a fresh burst of wetness within Dean to slick the way as he pounded harder, faster. Castiel’s murmuring grew increasingly dirty, increasingly incoherent, as he drove Dean towards a second climax shockingly quickly. Castiel’s words were incomprehensible, too broken, Dean too gone to focus on them, but the possessiveness, desire, affection, and need were unmistakable. Castiel’s thumb circled Dean’s clit continuously, his palm rubbed at Dean’s balls, their bodies met with a wet squelch each time Castiel bottomed out, skin slapping skin. Every part of Dean was alive with heat and incandescent light, his cock staying hard throughout as his panting breaths synced with Castiel’s rough grunts of effort, synced with Castiel’s thrusts.

“Oh.”

The flat, mortified voice broke through Dean’s fog of arousal and he struggled to lift his head, blinking through tears to see Sam, reappeared on the same chair as he’d vanished from. Castiel’s mouth left Dean’s oil gland and Castiel froze, buried deep in Dean’s body. The arm holding Dean’s against the table slipped to Dean’s chest, dragged Dean upright until he and Castiel were pressed together, and a possessive growl rattled through Dean, caused his teeth to buzz.

“Dean belongs to _me_.”

“Yeah...yeah, not going to argue with you there...I’m just going to leave...uh, _now_...” Sam vanished. His voice whispered through the room as he added, “I’ll come back in ten minutes. Wait, let’s call it an hour.”

Teeth sank into Dean’s neck hard, painfully, and Dean cried out as Castiel started pounding him again. Part of Dean was in awe that Sam’s intrusion hadn’t killed the mood, but if anything it had the opposite effect. Castiel thrust into Dean so energetically that sweat dripped from Castiel’s face and chest onto Dean’s back; the litany leaking from Castiel took on an even more possessive air with a hint of pleading, Dean caught his name and _mine_ and fragments he thought related to the danger of Dean leaving. In moments, Dean’s distraction was gone, his embarrassment was gone; there was only Castiel, Castiel’s cock and hands and mouth and the unbelievable pleasure of being together.

Castiel didn’t stop when he came, his cock didn’t soften, he groaned and dug his nails into Dean’s chest and stuttered through his climax, paused for an instant to take a deep breath and then kept going. Dean lost count of how many times he came, cock growing soft and seizing up dry even as his vagina continued to clench impossibly hot around Castiel. By the time Castiel came for a third time, his thrusts had grown weak, his voice dry and ragged as he whispered Dean’s name over and over again. Castiel’s cock finally went limp, slipping free from Dean’s body with a slick drag of Dean’s wetness mixed with come, smearing over Dean’s thighs. Dean’s legs gave way and he collapsed against the coffee table, body thrumming with heat and over-stimulation. Castiel fell atop him a moment later, clinging in a way that betrayed the vulnerability obscured by his dominating lovemaking. Neither spoke for long minutes, high on lust and love and companionship and wing oil. When Dean finally felt he could move, he tried to shrug free of Castiel’s weight, and though Dean failed to move Castiel, Castiel took the hint and rolled back on the couch. Dean twisted to look at Castiel, arms crossed on the edge of the couch, chin resting on his hands, looking into Castiel’s unfocused eyes. Dean smiled affectionately and got a bemused, happy grin in return, strangely proud of the wet spot he knew was forming on the carpet where he sat.

“Was that too much?” Castiel whispered, his words ill-formed, half his mouth mashed against the couch cushions. Cooling sweat made streaks over Castiel’s face, hair made black by wetness matted to his forehead and the nape of his neck. Dean’s answer was to cup Castiel’s cheek with one hand and brush a kiss over Castiel’s lips. “I can’t even describe what tasting you does to me, it makes me so...makes me need you so much, makes me want to _use_ you. Is that wrong? Is what we have really wrong?”

“It’s only wrong if I don’t want you, too,” said Dean with more conviction than he felt. “And I _do_ want you, more than ever, more every time we’re together. I’ll take care of you, Castiel.” His charge stiffened and Dean rubbed a reassuring thumb over Castiel’s cheek bone. “I’ll let you take care of me as well.” The smile that earned Dean was, in all the thousands of years of Dean’s existence, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Is it safe to come back?” asked Sam’s disembodied voice.

“Gimme a minute,” Dean answered gruffly. Rising, body aching, Dean gave Castiel one last pat on the cheek, went to the closet and got a couple towels. He threw one to Castiel and used the other to wipe his body down. Grace easily removed the stains from his pants, and Dean pulled them back on, tying the draw string as he walked to the bedroom. Returning with a blanket, Dean spread it over Castiel and left once more to get a large cup of water for his exhausted love. With a relieved sigh, Castiel propped himself up on an elbow, drained the glass and slumped back onto the couch. Dean sank to the floor by where Castiel lay, leaned back against the cushions as best he could with his wings in the way. A warm glow, very different from that of arousal, left Dean calm and happy as Castiel shimmied up to his back, draped an arm over Dean’s shoulder and cradled his head in the crook of Dean’s neck.

“We’re decent, Sammy,” announced Dean. His brother appeared an instant later, wary expression relaxing as he saw that they were no longer mid-coitus. Castiel’s hand tensed and relaxed against the bare skin of Dean’s chest.

“You two seem, uh, pretty enthusiastic about each other,” Sam said with a plastered-on smile.

“Next time, try knocking,” Dean suggested unsympathetically. Castiel made an inarticulate sound against Dean’s skin, and Dean continued, “Sam, this is my charge, Castiel; Castiel, this is my brother Samuel.”

“Angels have brothers?” asked Castiel, fatigue and curiosity sharing equal parts in his voice.

“All angels of the same heavenly rank are siblings,” Sam explained. “We are both guardians, so we are brothers. In our case it _is_ a little deeper than that – we share parents as well.”

“So angels are born – they grow up – just like people?”

“That’s a more interesting question than you’d think,” said Sam with enthusiasm. “You see—”

“I’d love you two to get to know each other and talk all about how angelhood works, but this isn’t the moment,” Dean interrupted. Anxiety knotted in his chest; he couldn’t wait to hear the result of Sam’s investigation while Castiel and Sam spent hours discussing the hierarchy of heaven. “Were you able to find anything out?”

“Don’t worry,” said Castiel soothingly. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Your orders were standard, Dean,” Sam said. “Go to earth, guard Castiel Novak for the duration of his life or until further orders are received. Only one thing stood out to me as unusual.”

“Which was...?”

“Where it was filed,” Sam explained. “It was cross-referenced with Nephilim.” Dean frowned pensively, shook his head to show he didn’t understand. “I’ve been thinking – why can Castiel see you sometimes? I think there might be angelic blood in his family tree.”

“One of my relatives was an angel?” asked Castiel, perking up, intrigued.

“Only distantly. If all you can do is see angels cloaked in grace, it’s probably twenty or thirty generations ago,” Sam said. “If a Nephilim managed to dodge heaven’s authority, or if an angel had an unauthorized child with a human, some angelic blood would mingle with the human strain. Most humans with a bloodline as weak as yours would never find out, but a few would manifest magical powers. And since Dean was with you, you were exposed to his grace, which might have brought out some latent abilities that you might not otherwise have noticed. Is there any history of magic in your family?”

“Not that I know of,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “But I could ask my parents.” Dean wrapped Castiel’s hand in his, rested their paired grip over Dean’s heart. Castiel gave Dean’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Couldn’t hurt,” said Sam, shrugging. “Well, that’s about that.”

“Huh?” Dean spluttered, anxiety bursting to unhappy life. _I violated orders, I’m going to get in trouble, I’m going to be recalled, I’m going to have to leave Castiel…_ “I thought you were going to find something in the records to help!” Castiel made indistinct calming noises in Dean’s ear that did nothing to relieve his concern.

“I _did_ ,” Sam said, exasperated. “There’s nothing in your orders that say you _can’t_ be in a relationship with Castiel. Honestly, I’m amazed that even you are so devoted to our Father’s orders that you’ve never _once_ engaged in relations with a mortal.”

“Had _you_ ever done so, before you met Gabriel?” countered Dean. Sam’s dignified look was all the confirmation Dean needed. Sam had been as dutiful as Dean, before he’d met the more rebellious arch-angel.

“You’re scot free,” Sam said, refusing to answer Dean. “Have fun!” He vanished.

“Sam?” Dean demanded. He had so many more questions, so many more worries. “Sam!”

“What’s going on, Dean?” asked Castiel. There was doubt in his voice, and concern, but there was also affection and faith and trust. If anyone else had asked Dean to confess his crimes, he wasn’t sure he could do it. But when Castiel asked…Dean never wanted to keep any secrets from Castiel.

Taking an unnecessary deep breath, Dean told Castiel everything, what his duties as a guardian angel entailed, about his worries regarding being with Castiel, about his fears that they didn’t know each other well enough for a relationship to be successful, about how despite all of that Dean wanted to be together. Wings alight with the strength of his convictions, Dean admitted that he was prepared to defy even heaven’s will to stay by Castiel’s side. By the time Dean was finished, it had grown dark out and Dean was on the couch with Castiel nestled in his arms, the golden glow emanating from Dean’s wings the only light in the world. The smile Dean cherished graced Castiel’s lips.

“I love you,” Dean concluded. Castiel stretched his arms around Dean’s neck and drew them together in a long, chaste kiss.

“We’re going to be fine, Dean,” Castiel whispered, cuddling closer to Dean, curling up against Dean’s warm body. “I understand why you are worried, but you needn’t be. I’m not leaving. It hasn’t been nearly so short a time as you think; I’ve spent a lifetime paying attention to everything you’ve done, every time I saw you, every action you took. I _know_ you, even though we’ve only recently begun to talk. I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you. I know it. It’s you, Dean. You’re it for me. Not even God can separate us. I know it. This is meant to be.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dean protested lamely. He wanted so badly to believe that was true.

“You’ll see.”

* * *

Sam materialized in heaven, rolling his eyes at his brother’s naiveté. Dean was so focused on being dutiful that he’d never taken anything for himself. It had always worried Sam that Dean was self-effacing to the point of self-erasure, and he was inordinately pleased to know that finally, Dean was pursuing something for no reason other than that he wanted it. Whatever Sam had to do to protect Dean’s affection, he’d do. Crumpling up the paper in his pocket, he threw the wadded ball into the trash.

The flutter of wings betrayed that Sam wasn’t alone in his dormitory, the crinkle of paper demonstrated the curiosity of his visitor. “Order #4536543332: Guardian angel Dean, ID number 3420133, is to mate with the human Castiel Novak to produce Nephilim offspring,” read Gabriel’s wry voice aloud. “Sammy, did you just destroy an official order of the Lord? I really have corrupted you…”

“It’s better this way,” said Sam stoutly. In truth, it _did_ make him uncomfortable to destroy the missive instead of pass it on to Dean as he’d been instructed to do, but centuries with Gabriel had taught Sam a lot about the wide distance between the stated rules of heaven and those rules that would actually be enforced. There would be no consequences for destroying an order that Dean was already happily following, whereas if Sam gave his brother the order… “If I give that to Dean, Castiel will find out. After that, they’ll both wonder if Dean is staying because he wants to or because he feels he _has_ to. I won’t do that to them. They seem happy together.”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’ve seen them together for, what, five entire minutes, and you’re already prepared to send them to a happily ever after?”

“You seemed in favor of it,” countered Sam pointedly. “Speaking of which, you are surprisingly well-informed about the Novak family.” Sending an innocent look skyward, Gabriel shrugged. “I think Castiel has angelic blood. In fact, I think it’s why Dean was paired with him. Any children they have will be just over half-angel.”

“Yes, their offspring will make excellent Nephilim,” Gabriel agreed as if none of it meant anything to him. “God will be so proud. Oh, wait, no He won’t. I doubt he’ll even notice. He—”

“You’re the Novak ancestor, aren’t you,” Sam interrupted.

“Sam!” Gabriel’s air of effrontery was comically overblown. “I would _never_ —”

“Gabe,” Sam said warningly.

The sparkle in Gabe’s eyes betrayed him, the way his lips quirked into the semblance of a smile, the way he glanced sidelong in each direction rather than meet Sam’s steady gaze.

“What? I think my great-great-great-great-great-great…well, you get the idea…I think my grandson turned out pretty well,” grinned Gabe. “But your brother is a pervy cradle robber.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Aw, come over here and kiss me, moose.”

“Not until you promise to _never call me that again_.”

“You know you love it.”

“Yeah, I do.”

* * *

Castiel’s breath rattled in his throat. Dean waited, sick with apprehension, for Castiel to take another. Each inhalation had been growing weaker and further apart, sometimes as long as 30 seconds passing before Dean’s elderly love drew breath again. It had been three days since Castiel had seen or recognized Dean, two days since Dean had gotten so much as a hand squeeze in reply to a question he’d asked, and though he told himself not to grieve yet, he was already heavy with sorrow. It wouldn’t be long now. The fears for the future Dean had once harbored were long since dissipated, Castiel’s love as true as his own, their children grown and enrolled in heaven’s ranks serving peacetime duty in the army. New fears crowded in, though. Castiel was dying and Dean dreaded the end. For 60 years it had been easy to pretend this moment would never come, even as it loomed closer and closer, but there was no pretending any longer. Once Castiel was gone, Dean faced the rest of eternity alone. A tear rolled down his face as he prayed for all he was worth, prayed for Castiel to breathe again, prayed for Castiel’s life, prayed for even on more day together. Even as he begged his Father in heaven for reprieve, he felt guilty. Castiel was so old, so frail, so tired. Asking him to suffer longer was cruelty, but Dean was too selfish to do otherwise. He couldn’t contemplate being alone again.

Seconds stretched into a minute, two minutes, and Dean knew the end had come. Hot tears flooded his eyes, splashed down his cheeks; his head fell, his wings slumped, and Dean wept uncontrollably.

The pull to return to heaven began before the hand Dean clutched grew cold. His charge was gone. Dean’s duty now was to return home and await new orders. In short days, weeks at the most, he’d be assigned to a new mortal, sent to earth to repeat the cycle anew.

For the first time, Dean couldn’t bear the thought. The loss of his charge had always been sad, but it had always brought with it before the excitement and promise of watching some new infant grow through childhood, adulthood, old age. Losing Castiel was nothing like the death of any prior mortal had been, though. The mere idea that Dean might start over with someone new was nauseating, reminded Dean of the endless years stretching before him. A sob choked in his throat and he leant forward against the bed, Castiel’s wrinkled, calloused hand pressed to Dean’s lips, cradling his head in his arms and crying his broken heart to aching shreds.

The longer Dean delayed, the greater the compulsion to return grew; when he could resist it no longer he took flight, left the shell that had been his love alone and materialized in his room. Collapsing onto his chair, he tried to push his memories away but he couldn’t. A lifetime of companionship, care, and support swamped him, broke him, left him raw and exposed and agonizingly aware of all the wonderful feelings he would never experience again.

He wasn’t sure how long had passed when there was a knock on his door. Dean couldn’t fathom who would knock rather than simply appear and he didn’t care.

“Go ‘way,” he said, his voice scratchy and raw.

“Dean, it’s me,” Sam’s concern was evident through the thin wood.

“Leave me alone!”

“Is that what you want?” demanded Sam. “To be alone?”

 _Not even a little_.

The thought of decades and centuries and millennia to come, alone, was unbearable. Dean couldn’t bring himself to answer.

“May I come in?”

“Yeah,” Dean managed weakly, wiping his damp cheeks. The door opened and his brother entered, expression intensely sympathetic. With two broad strides he crossed to Dean’s side and put an arm around his shoulder. _Not alone, I’m not completely alone, it’s something, I’m so lucky to have Sam…_ Dean wailed and threw himself against his brother, wet cheeks streaking salty water over Sam’s smooth chest. They huddled together for a long time, Sam making quiet comforting noises and running his hand down Dean’s spine. Inconsolable, Dean cried for a long time before he ran out of tears, unable to physically express the hollowness and agony that remained within him. Sam helped him sit up and gave him an incongruous smile.

“Feeling any better?” Sam asked.

“No,” answered Dean honestly, miserably. Sam laughed and Dean cracked a smile despite himself.

“I was thinking you should stay with Gabriel and I tonight,” said Sam.

“Maybe that would be for the best,” Dean mumbled without conviction. Sam and Gabriel’s heaven-sanctioned couple-dom meant that they’d had the free time to be part of Dean and Castiel’s life, part of their children’s lives, able to help the young Nephilim make the transition from living on earth to living in heaven. Dean sniffed back more tears as he thought of Castiel and Sam’s friendship, how happy it had made Dean to watch his brother and his love grow close. Forcing himself to his feet, he followed in Sam’s wake. Sam kept up a stream of cheerful chatter and Dean felt like a ghost haunting his brother’s wake.

Much to Dean’s surprise, Sam knocked on his own door when he arrived. “Gabe, everything set?” he called loudly through the white painted wall.

“As ready as we’ll ever be, Samsquatch. Dean-o, you out there?”

There was the quiet sound of someone else talking and Dean’s stomach dropped. “No, Sam – I can’t deal with – I mean, you and Gabriel are one thing, but no one else, please—”

Sam turned quickly, put a hand on each of Dean’s shoulders, made a soothing shushing noise. “Hey – hey, I need you to trust me, okay? Look at me – Dean?” Dean forced himself to meet Sam’s steady, confident gaze and he nodded reluctant agreement.

The door opened, Sam stepped within, Dean heaved an expressive sigh, his red-eyed gaze fixed on the floor. “Hey, Ga—”

Weight barreled into him and cut him off. Stunned, Dean froze as hands fell on his cheeks and lips met his. “Dean!” cried a much-beloved voice. Dean went numb with shock, awe, wonder, and unspeakable gratefulness and joy. “Dean, _Dean_ , my Dean!” Every word was punctuated with a kiss as Dean stood dumbly and stared at the impossible apparition before him. It was Castiel, young as he’d not been in a lifetime, eyes bright and full of life and swimming with tears, wide grin only fading in the face of Dean’s speechless, unresponsive amazement. “Dean?”

“Cas…?” Dean whispered, raising a shaking hand to Castiel’s face. Dean froze short of actually touching, terrified that the beautiful vision would vanish if Dean attempted to interact with him. Castiel leaned into the contact, rubbed a stubbled cheek roughly against Dean’s palm and Dean shuddered, more tears leaking from his gritty, pained eyes. “You…I don’t…” He looked around, lost, to see Sam beaming at him and Gabriel giving him an indulgent smile. “Are you…?” His eyes returned to Castiel’s. He thought he might drown in blue; he’d never wanted anything more.

“I woke up in heaven, Dean, and Gabriel found me and brought me here. I’m in heaven,” Castiel said, ineffectually wiping away the streaks of liquid spilling from Dean’s eyes. “ _We’re_ in heaven. Together.”

Tears coursed down his cheeks, as uncontrollable in Dean’s happiness as in they had been in his grief. Throwing his arms around Castiel, Dean held him close, frantic in his need for contact, whispering _Castiel_ over and over again. Castiel laughed in delight and kissed every bit of Dean’s skin he could get his lips on. The room was suddenly empty, Sam and Gabriel absconding and leaving them alone. Delight and a wonderful, light happiness that Dean hadn’t felt in years swelled through him and he met Castiel’s lips joyfully, reveled in the passion and love evident in every brush of lip against lip.

As Castiel had predicted so many years before, everything was going to be fine. They had eternity together.

_Thank God._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry about the random PoV switch...but it was the only way to get that info in, and so I decided "screw it" and went for it...and sorry for the feels at the end...figured folks would be happier knowing how everything worked out long term than being left to wonder...but doing that required feels...
> 
> Have ideas for Writing Prompt Wednesday? Want to get involved? Just want to get to be friends? You should consider following me on Tumblr - my username is [unforth-ninawaters](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com).


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